"Then I gave him a glass of port wine," resumed Aaron--"you won't have forgotten that he liked a glass the last thing at bedtime--and he took it up to the last. After that, I lighted the one wax candle that he always kept burning all night. He would have the candle put so that as he laid in bed he could see the likeness of that beautiful young lady, which has hung over his bedroom chimney-piece as long as I can remember: who she was, he never told me. Then he held out his hand to me, as he always did at night of late--except maybe at any odd time when he was a bit put out. 'Goodnight, old friend,' he said; 'I shan't want anything more till morning.' They were the last words anyone heard him speak." Ella turned and buried her face in the padded arm-chair. "I had just got out of the room, and was shutting the door behind me," continued Aaron, "when I thought I heard a queer sort of noise. I couldn't make out whether it was a groan or a cry, or what it was. However, I went back into the room. The Squire seemed lying just as I had left him, but he didn't speak. Not feeling satisfied, I took up the candle and looked at his face. There I saw something that made my heart quake as it had never quaked before. I called Hubert; and five minutes later his horse was in the dog-cart, and he was off to fetch the Doctor. It wasn't long before Dr. Jago was here, but the moment he clapped eyes on the Squire he saw there was no hope. My poor dear master couldn't speak, but we seemed to see in his eyes that he knew us. By-and-by he appeared to go to sleep. We could only watch by his bedside: and he died just as the clocks were striking twelve." "Oh! my dear one--my dear one!" wailed the weeping girl. "There was one queer thing, Miss Ella, that happened that same night," resumed the old man, in a lowered voice. "We got to bed between two and three o'clock. I was the last to leave the room, locking the door behind me. I was the first person to enter the room in the morning; and--what do you think I found there?" Ella looked at him in silence. "I found the picture of that beautiful young lady lying face downwards upon the hearth. The nail that had held it for so many years had given way in the night, and there it lay. I have not hung it up again. You, Miss Ella, can do as you like about that. What I say to myself at odd times is this--Why should it fall down the very night the master died?" Ella Winter felt that she could hear no more just now, and rose from her seat. "I want to see him, Aaron; I will go now. You go on first and bring me word whether anyone is in the room." "You want to see him!" repeated Aaron, faintly and timidly, as a strangely troubled look took possession of his eyes. "Yes, of course I do. I will go in now. If my sad eyes could not look upon his face living, they----" "Oh! my dear Miss Ella," interrupted the old man, "no one's eyes will ever rest on his face again."