that is my last dying speech and confession. Now mind,’ he went on, standing by the table, and addressing us all; ‘if I ring once, _don’t_ come. I may be flurried, and lay hold of the bell without thinking; if I ring twice, _come_.’ Then he went, jumping up the stairs three steps at a time, and humming a tune. As for us, we sat in different attitudes of expectation and listening about the drawing-room. At first we tried to talk a little, but it would not do; our whole souls seemed to have passed into our ears. The clock’s ticking sounded as loud as a great church bell close to one’s ear. Addy lay on the sofa, with her dear little white face hidden in the cushions. So we sat for exactly an hour; but it seemed like two years, and just as the clock began to strike eleven, a sharp ting, ting, ting, rang clear and shrill through the house. ‘Let us go,’ said Addy, starting up and running to the door. ‘Let us go,’ I cried too, following her. But Captain Burton stood in the way, and intercepted our progress. ‘No,’ he said, decisively, ‘you must not go; remember Gordon told us distinctly, if he rang once _not_ to come. I know the sort of fellow he is, and that nothing would annoy him more than having his directions disregarded.’ “‘Oh, nonsense!’ Addy cried, passionately, ‘he would never have rung if he had not seen something dreadful; do, _do_ let us go!’ she ended, clasping her hands. But she was overruled, and we all went back to our seats. Ten minutes more of suspense, next door to unendurable, I felt a lump in my throat, a gasping for breath;--ten minutes on the clock, but a thousand centuries on our hearts. Then again, loud, sudden, violent the bell rang! We made a simultaneous rush to the door. I don’t think we were one second flying upstairs. Addy was first. Almost simultaneously she and I burst into the room. There he was, standing in the middle of the floor, rigid, petrified, with that same look--that look that is burnt into my heart in letters of fire--of awful, unspeakable, stony fear on his brave young face. For one instant he stood thus; then stretching out his arms stiffly before him, he groaned in a terrible, husky voice, ‘Oh, my God; I have seen it!’ and fell down _dead_. Yes, _dead_. Not in a swoon or in a fit, but _dead_. Vainly we tried to bring back the life to that strong young heart; it will never come back again till that day when the earth and the sea give up the dead that are therein. I cannot see the page for the tears that are blinding me; he was such a dear fellow! I can’t write any more to-day. “Your broken-hearted “CECILIA.” This is a true story. THE MAN WITH THE NOSE. THE MAN WITH THE NOSE. [The details of this little story are of course imaginary, but the main incidents are, to the best of my belief, facts. They happened twenty, or more than twenty years ago.] CHAPTER I.