“That’s all,” he said. “And do you wonder that I chose that room? How I hope that she will come for me.” My room was next to Roderick’s, the head of his bed being just opposite the head of mine on the other side of the wall. That night I had undressed, lain down, and had just put out my light, when I heard a sharp tap just above me. I thought it was some fortuitous noise, as of a picture swinging in a draught, but the moment after it was repeated, and it struck me that it was perhaps a summons from Roderick who wanted something. Still quite unalarmed, I got out of bed, and, candle in hand, went to his door. I knocked, but receiving no answer, opened it an inch or two. “Did you want anything?” I asked, and, again receiving no answer, I went in. His lights were burning, and he was sitting up in bed. He did not appear to see me or be conscious of my presence, and his eyes were fixed on some point a few feet away in front of him. His mouth smiled, and in his eyes was just such a joy as I had seen there when he told me his story. Then, leaning on his arm, he moved as if to rise. “Oh, Margaret, my dear....” he cried. He drew a couple of short breaths, and fell back. PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE PITMAN PRESS, BATH * * * * * * Transcriber’s note: Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.