Karl sighed as he went back with the beer. Yes, there was no real hope. That same night--or rather on the following morning, for the dawn was more than glimmering--Karl in his bed began to dream that he was out in a shower of hail. It seemed to be falling with great violence: so much so that a sharper crash awoke him. Lying awake for a moment and questioning where he was, he found the noise to be reality. The hail was beating on the chamber windows. _Was_ it hail? Scarcely. It was crashing but on one window, and only came at intervals. It sounded more like gravel. Karl rose and opened the window. Smith the agent stood underneath. A prevision of evil shook Karl as he leaned out. "He is very ill indeed, sir," said Smith in the lowest whisper possible to be heard, and extending his finger to indicate the Maze. "Mr. Moore's there and thinks it will be for death. I thought you would like to know it." "How did you hear it?" asked Karl. "Ann Hopley ran over and knocked me up, that I might go for the doctor." "Thank you," replied Karl. "I'll be there directly." Now it so happened that for some purposes of cleaning--for the Court was not exempt from those periodical visitations any more than the humble dwelling of Mrs. Chaffen--Miss Blake's chamber had been temporarily changed to the one next to that recently occupied by Lady Andinnian. Miss Blake was in the habit of sleeping with her window open; and, not being asleep at the time, she had heard Mr. Smith's footsteps and the crashes at Sir Karl's window. Of course she was curious as to what could cause the noise, and at first thought of housebreakers. Had Mr. Smith chanced to turn his head in the right direction during the colloquy with Sir Karl, he might have seen an elaborately night-capped head peeping forth cautiously. "Why, it is Mr. Smith!" thought Miss Blake, as he walked away. "What an extraordinary thing! He must have been calling up Sir Karl." Listening inside as well as out, Miss Blake heard the bell that was in Hewitt's chamber ring gently; and, after a minute or two, the latter proceeding to his master's room. Then they both went down together, and Hewitt let Sir Karl out at the hall door, and came upstairs again. Miss Blake, after a good deal of self-puzzling, arrived at the conclusion that the affair must be in some way connected with poachers--who had been busy on the land latterly--and returned to her bed. With death on his face, and a look of resignation than which nothing could be more peaceful, lay Sir Adam for the last time. His weary life, with all its bitter turmoil, was nearly at an end; night _here_ was closing, morning _there_ was opening. Karl's grey eyes were wet as he bent over him. "Don't grieve too much," said Adam with a smile, as he put his cold hand into Karl's clasp. "You know how much better off I shall be. Rose knows it." "You were so full of hope yesterday, Adam."