So the fire was lighted in the octagon-room, and all the incongruous necessaries of sudden illness appeared among the old furniture, and contrasted with the unused solitude of the place. Mrs Waynflete lay on her bed. She had moved and opened her eyes, but she did not speak, and whether she was conscious of waiting either for death, or for the coming of her nephews--who could say? The women about her waited for a "change," or for some one to come to them out of the gathering twilight, and the doctor stayed and watched the case. The wind drove and cried, and the unresting horseman galloped round and round the house. Even the young vicar happened to be out for the day. Mrs Waynflete had trenchantly informed him that "she hadn't often much necessity to call on other folks to help her." But Mrs Palmer and Jeanie would have been very glad to welcome him now. Lights were brought, and the octagon windows shone out into the surrounding gloom. The two women did not think much about Guy; but they grieved much over the continued absence of Godfrey. Suddenly Mrs Waynflete looked up, with eyes into which a clearer light had come-- "I'm dying," she said abruptly, with some strength still in her deep old voice. "I'm dying, and they're neither of them here. The Lord forgive me all my sins." "Oh, dear aunt, I'm sure you're a little better; the dear boys are just coming!" Mrs Waynflete folded her hands together, and looked straight out before her. "It might have occurred to you, Susan Joshua, to put up a prayer." "I didn't know if you'd like it aloud, Aunt Waynflete. I'm sure I have been praying for you--to myself." "Pray for them; it's more to the purpose." Then poor Susan Joshua knelt down by the bed and put on her spectacles, and while Jeanie found a Prayer-book, and kneeling beside her held the light, read straight through the absolution and all the prayers for the visitation of the sick, and, if she did not apply the words to any but the passing soul before her, there was many a petition that suited well with the needs of the two, who "whether by the fraud and malice of the devil, or by their own carnal will and frailty," were so sore bested. And in the midst, a sound of creaking wheels, a loud tone of inquiry and speeding footsteps, and Godfrey rushed in, pale and horrified, and fell on his knees beside her, clasping her hand. "Oh, Auntie--Auntie Waynflete!" he cried, almost sobbing. "Oh, Auntie! why wasn't I here? Auntie, speak to me!" Mrs Waynflete's fingers feebly answered to his agitated clasp. She looked hard at him, and she smiled a little, then she said faintly but imperiously-- "Go on with the prayer."