In an upper chamber, through the closed blinds of whichthe sun is vainly striving to enter, Reginald Branscombe,fifth Earl of Sartoris, lies dead. The sheet is reverentlydrawn across the motionless limbs; the once restless, nowquiet, face is hidden; all around is wrapt in solemn unutterablesilence,—the silence that belongs to death alone!
A sense of oppressive calm is upon everything,—a feelingof loneliness, vague and shadowy. The clock hasticked its last an hour ago, and now stands useless in itsplace. The world without moves on unheeding; the worldwithin knows time no more! Death reigns triumphant!Life sinks into insignificance!
Once, a little flickering golden ray, born of the hot sunoutside, flashes in through some unknown chink, and castsitself gleefully upon the fair white linen of the bed. Ittrembles vivaciously now here, now there, in uncontrollablejoyousness, as though seeking in its gayety to mockthe grandeur of the King of Terrors! At least so it seemsto the sole watcher in the lonely chamber, as with an impatientsigh he raises his head, and, going over to the window,draws the curtains still closer to shut out the obnoxiouslight; after which he comes back to where he hasbeen standing, gazing down upon, and thinking of, thedead.
He is an old man, tall and gaunt, with kind but passion[Pg 4]ateeyes, and a mouth expressive of impatience. Hishands—withered but still sinewy—are clasped behind hisback; every feature in his face is full of sad and anxiousthought.
What changes the passing of a few short hours havewrought—so he muses. Yesterday the man now chilledand silent for evermore was as full of animation as he—hisbrother—who to-day stands so sorrowfully beside hiscorpse. His blood had run as freely in his veins, hispulses throbbed as evenly, his very voice had been soundingstrong and clear and hearty, when Death, remorseless,claimed him for his own.
Poor Reginald! Had he known of the fell disease thathad nestled so long within his heart?—or had no symptomsever shown themselves to give him kindly warning? Certainlyno hint of it had ever passed his lips, even to thosemost near and dear to him. He had lived apparentlyfree from care or painful forebodings of any kind,—a goodand useful life too, leaving nothing for those behind (wholoved him) to regret. Indeed, of late he had appearedeven gayer, happier, than before; and now—
It seems such a little time ago since they both werelads together. A tiny space taken from the great eternity,when all is told. How well the living man remembersat this moment many a boyish freak and light-heartedjest, many a kindness shown and gift bestowed by thedead, that until now had wellnigh been forgotten!
He thinks of the good old college days, when theyworked little, an