The space of time between the moments when she fled from David’s side and reached the threshold of the laboratory was ever a blank in Ellinor’s memory. She had no consciousness even of Barnaby’s piteous joy at being at last understood, of the long passages, the steep, winding stairs, down and ever down. She never knew that she had crossed Margery coming up with lighted candle, and staring at them in blank amazement. She only knew that, when she stood upon the threshold of the room that had received her with so dear a welcome, there in his chair, under the light of the lamp, sat Master Simon, his grey head fallen forward on his breast. He seemed profoundly and peacefully asleep—just as she had left David. But even before she had laid her hand on his forehead to find it stone cold, she knew in her heart that her father was dead. Squatting on the old man’s knee, Belphegor gazed at her inquiringly with yellow eyes. Out of warm slumber, tinted like his books with rich and sober hues of fawn and russet, with here and there a glint of faded gold, Parson Tutterville was roused in the chill encircling dawn by a cry beneath his windows—a wild and urgent cry that drew him from his down before he was well awake: “Uncle Horatio, for God’s sake!” And as he thrust his night-capped head out of the casement, he asked himself if he had not suddenly wandered into a terrible dream, for the voice went on: “My father is dead, and David, for aught I know, is dying!” CHAPTER XVI THE TIME IS OUT OF JOINT “Thou Ghost,” I said, “and is thy name To-day?— Yesterday’s son, with such an abject brow!— And can To-morrow be more pale than thou?” While yet I spoke, the silence answered: Yea, Henceforth our issue is all grieved and grey.... —ROSSETTI (_The House of Life_). The morning after Master Simon’s death was filled for Parson Tutterville with sadder and more responsible duties than any in his experience. Before a stormy scarlet sun had well cleared the eastern line of the hill he was standing with Mr. Webb (the country practitioner) by the body of his life-long friend, and listening to the professional verdict on the obvious fact. The medical man, a not particularly sagacious specimen of his order, who had for many years treated Master Rickart’s pursuits with the contempt of prejudice, discovered no specific symptoms of any known toxic, declared the death to be perfectly natural and announced his intention of so certifying it. This decision was, in the circumstances, too desirable not to be accepted with alacrity.