“What is the use of this solemn little comedy?” said the latter, whimsically, his voice, a whispered echo of the cheeriness of days past. “It won't make me any better. Simmons knows it and you know it and I know it. All the king's horses and all the king's men! And Humpty Dumpty doesn't want to be set up again. He's been on his wall long enough.” He drank the draught, however, making a wry face. Ella bent over to wipe his lips, but he motioned her away with characteristic independence. “I can do that for myself. I can't do much, but I can do that. You don't know how she bullies me, Syl.” “Uncle Matthew wouldn't have the nurse when she came to relieve me,” explained Ella. “I want those I love best by me, as now, eh, Syl?” said the old man. Sylvester did not answer, but stood by the bedside dumb, vainly seeking some formula of speech whereby to simulate emotion. Ella set the wine-glass on the table and smoothed the pillows and counterpane, then lingered by the sick man, looking down upon him with a puckering of the brow, as a woman will, counting over the little tale of duties specified by the forth-driven nurse, so as to make certain of no omission. But her presence there filled Sylvester with dull resentment. “My father has something particular to say to me,” he said stiffly. “Do you mind?” “I was on the point of going,” she replied, somewhat surprised at feeling hurt by his tone, for she had thought that the successive emotional shocks of the past four and twenty hours had killed all feeling within her for ever. Recovering herself, she bent over the old man, kissed him, and crossed to the door. Sylvester met her there and accompanied her into the passage and closed the door behind him. “How much does my father know of Roderick Usher's affairs?” She looked at him bravely enough. “Nothing. I believe he guesses. I have told him he was summoned abroad suddenly.” She moved away. “Stop,” said he. “There is something else.” She drew a step nearer. “I can't bear much more,” she said quietly. “It may relieve your mind to know that I have withdrawn the charge entirely. He is perfectly free.” She stared at him for a moment, then grew deadly white and fainted. The girl's overtaxed strength had given way at last. Sylvester caught her in his arms and prepared to carry her to her room not far off along the passage; but at that moment Miss Agatha Lanyon with Simmons turned the corner, and he gave Ella into their charge. “I'm staying with my father,” he said to Simmons. “Come in later.” On the other side of his father's door he forgot the recent scene. Of what importance was a girl's fainting compared with the death hovering in this chamber and the death enthroned in his heart? He approached the bed. Matthew looked up at him wistfully. “You can't expect me to live for ever, you know. I really have had enough of it, so don't fret.” A thrush fluttered against the window for a moment. Matthew started. “What was that?”