James Kavanagh had dispatched one of his little boys to a neighbouring cottage for a crow-bar. The boy quickly returned with one, and James, assisted by the crowd who gathered near, was not long in forcing the door. “Good people,” said he to the anxious company outside, “don’t come in till I tell you--there’s no use in further exposing the shame of my brother’s house.” He and Alice, with one or two particular friends, entered the hall with faltering steps, and they closed the door behind them. The first object which met their eyes was Peggy, the old housekeeper, lying on the mat at the foot of the staircase, in a trance of intoxication: she had evidently fallen down stairs in her attempt to reach the door, and had been for hours perhaps insensible. Alice jumped over her, and darted up stairs with the speed of lightning. James and his companions, after a vain attempt at arousing the housekeeper, slowly followed her. They entered the room which fronted them on the landing. The thick stench of tobacco-smoke, mingled with the fumes of ale and whisky, almost overpowered them. The room would have been quite dark had it not been for the flickering remnants of two candles, which still glared in the heated sockets of a large old-fashioned branch candlestick. James went to the window, opened the shutters, and let down the sash. The glorious sunshine streamed into the reeking apartment, with the blessed air of the Sabbath. How strange--how painful was the paling glimmer of those expiring candles in that holy light! The three young men were lying on the floor at some distance from each other, around the legs of a crazy table in the centre of the room. On the table were huddled together the fragments of salt herrings, the parings of cheese, broken glasses, half-emptied decanters, and the other usual paraphernalia of a low debauch. The whole meaning of the scene was taken in at a glance by James Kavanagh, as soon as he had opened the window. He stooped over one of the prostrate forms--it was that of Richard. He turned up the face--great God! it was the face of a livid corpse! A smothered groan burst from James: he rushed towards the next--Matt Kavanagh was dead also, quite dead and stiff! James and his friends looked at each other solemnly, and without speaking a word. They turned their glance simultaneously to the place where Gerald was lying. They moved or rather tottered to the spot. There he lay, with Alice in a swoon beside him, his eyes glazed, the skin of his face tightened over his nose and cheek-bones, his lips covered with viscid froth, and his beautiful brown hair tossed backwards from his damp forehead, glistening in a streak of sunshine which came full upon it from the window. “He is alive still!” they all three exclaimed: “he may yet be saved!” One of them ran to the window and made a sign to the neighbours to come in. The room was soon full of horrified spectators.