And I don’t know what it was which made Katherine divine the moment she saw the doctor approaching through the comparative gloom of the outer room that he was bringing her news of something important. Mr. Tredgold had not been worse than usual in the beginning of this attack; the nurse had treated it just as usual, not more seriously than before. But she knew at once by the sound of the doctor’s step, by something in the atmosphere about him, that the usual had departed for ever and that what he came to tell her of was nothing less than death. She rose up to meet him with a sort of awe, her lips apart, her breath coming quick. “I see,” he said, “that you anticipate what I am going to say.” “No,” she said with a gasp, “I know of nothing--nothing more than usual.” “That is all over,” he answered with a little solemnity. “I am sorry I can give you so little hope--this time I fear it is the end.” “The end!” she cried, “the end!” She had known it from the first moment of his approach, but this did not lessen the shock. She dropped again upon her seat, and sat silent contemplating that fact--which no reasoning, no explanation, could get over. The end--this morning everything as usual, all the little cares, the hundred things he wanted, the constant service--and afterwards nothing, silence, stillness, every familiar necessity gone. Katherine’s heart seemed to stand still, the wonder of it, the terror of it, the awe--it was too deep and too appalling for tears. After awhile she inquired, in a voice that did not seem her own, “Is he very ill? May I go to him now?” “He is not more ill than you have seen him before. You can go to him, certainly, but there are some things that you must take into consideration, Miss Tredgold. He is not aware of any change--he is not at all anxious about himself. He thinks this is just the same as the other attacks. If you think it necessary that he should be made aware of his condition, either because of his worldly affairs, or--any other----” Dr. Burnet was accustomed to death-beds. He was not overawed like Katherine, and there seemed something ludicrous to him in the thought of old Tredgold, an old man of the earth, earthly, having--other affairs. Katherine looked up at him, her eyes looking twice as large as usual in the solemnity of their trouble and awe. There seemed nothing else in the room but her eyes looking at him with an appeal, to which he had no answer to give. “Would it make any difference--now?” she said. “I cannot tell what your views may be on that subject. Some are very eager that the dying should know--some think it better not to disturb them. It will do him no harm physically to be told; but you must be the judge.” “I have not thought of it--as I ought,” she said. “Oh, Dr. Burnet, give me your opinion, give me your own opinion! I do not seem able to think.”