John went downstairs to the fire, which had been kept up all night, and over which he crouched to warm himself. He was overwhelmed with wonder and sorrow. Death had come to the house, he felt it chill and cold, chilling him to his very heart. And what did these wandering words mean? Who was it for whom she had prayed to the end? He had his knees almost in the fire, and yet he shivered with cold, and with wondering and trying to understand. He must have dozed a little, for the voice of his grandfather, calling him, came to him through some sort of miserable dream, in which he seemed to be seeking some one and unable to find them--searching through wild distances and open wastes. He heard the call repeated two or three times, repeated through his dream, before he woke, with the trembling hand of the old man on his shoulder. ‘John! John! run for the doctor. John!’ ‘Yes, grandfather,’ he cried, starting to his feet, still in his dream. Then he saw the cold, grey dawn of the morning about him, and the fire, and the well-known walls, and, with a shock and terrible sense of reality, came to himself. ‘Is she worse?’ he cried. ‘Run, run! Tell him he is to come directly,’ the old man cried, with a wave of his hand. After the doctor had come and gone again, there was another errand for John. He had heard for himself what the doctor said. It had been said before them both, and they had received it in silence, saying nothing. Mr. Sandford was standing up, leaning against the mantelpiece, covering his eyes with his hand. He said, in a low voice, it might have been to himself, ‘We must send for Emily, now; she must come. She must come--now.’ ‘Shall I telegraph, grandfather?’ ‘Yes; say the time has come. Say her mother--her mother----’