"A man so changed, as he has been in the last two years, I have never seen," replied Lionel. "None can have failed to remark it. From entire calmness of mind, he has exhibited anxious restlessness; I may say irritability. Mrs. Verner is ill," Lionel added, as they were ascending the stairs. "She has not been out of bed for two days." Not in his study now; he had done with the lower part of the house for ever; but in his bed-chamber, never to come out of it alive, was Mr. Verner. They had got him up, and he sat in an easy-chair by the bedside, partially dressed, and wrapped in his dressing-gown. On his pale, worn face there were the unmistakable signs of death. He and Mr. Bitterworth were left alone. "So you have come to see the last of me, Bitterworth!" was the remark of Mr. Verner. "Not the last yet, I hope," heartily responded Mr. Bitterworth, who was an older man than Mr. Verner, but hale and active. "You may rally from this attack and get about again. Remember how many serious attacks you have had." "None like this. The end must come; and it has come now. Hush, Bitterworth! To speak of recovery to me is worse than child's play. I _know_ my time has come. And I am glad to meet it, for it releases me from a world of care." "Were there any in this world who might be supposed to be exempt from care, it is you," said Mr. Bitterworth, leaning towards the invalid, his hale old face expressing the concern he felt. "I should have judged you to be perfectly free from earthly care. You have no children; what can be troubling you?" "Would to Heaven I had children!" exclaimed Mr. Verner; and the remark appeared to break from him involuntarily, in the bitterness of his heart. "You have your brother's son, your heir, Lionel." "He is no heir of mine," returned Mr. Verner, with, if possible, double bitterness. "No heir of yours!" repeated Mr. Bitterworth, gazing at his friend, and wondering whether he had lost his senses. Mr. Verner, on his part, gazed on vacancy, his thoughts evidently cast inwards. He sat in his old favourite attitude; his hands clasped on the head of his stick, and his face bent down upon it. "Bitterworth," said he presently "when I made my will years ago, after my father's death, I appointed you one of the executors." "I know it," replied Mr. Bitterworth. "I was associated--as you gave me to understand--with Sir Rufus Hautley." "Ay. After the boy came of age,"--and Mr. Bitterworth knew that he alluded to Lionel--"I added his name to those of Sir Rufus and yourself. Legacies apart, the estate was all left to him." "Of course it was," assented Mr. Bitterworth.