ing words. And with this one gleam of comfort I had to be content.

Monday's interview was a brief one and contained nothing worth
repeating. Mrs. Postlethwaite listened with stoical satisfaction to the
reading of the will I had drawn up, and upon its completion rang her
bell for the two witnesses awaiting her summons, in an adjoining room.
They were not of her household, but to all appearance honest villagers
with but one noticeable characteristic, an overweening idea of Mrs.
Postlethwaite's importance. Perhaps the spell she had so liberally woven
for others in other and happier days was felt by them at this hour. It
would not be strange; I had almost fallen under it myself, so great was
the fascination of her manner even in this wreck of her bodily
powers, when triumph assured, she faced us all in a state of complete
satisfaction.

But before I was again quit of the place, all my doubts returned and in
fuller force than ever. I had lingered in my going as much as decency
would permit, hoping to hear a step on the stair or see a face in some
doorway which would contradict Mrs. Postlethwaite's cold assurance that
Miss Postlethwaite was no better. But no such step did I hear, and no
face did I see save the old, old one of the ancient friend or relative,
whose bent frame seemed continually to haunt the halls. As before,
he stood listening to the monotonous ticking of one of the clocks,
muttering to himself and quite oblivious of my presence.

However, this time I decided not to pass him without a more persistent
attempt to gain his notice. Pausing at his side, I asked him in the
friendly tone I thought best calculated to attract his attention, how
Miss Postlethwaite was to-day. He was so intent upon his task, whatever
that was, that while he turned my way, it was with a glance as blank as
that of a stone image.

"Listen!" he admonished me. "It still says No! No! I don't think it will
ever say anything else."

I stared at him in some consternation, then at the clock itself which
was the tall one I had found run down at my first visit. There was
nothing unusual in its quiet tick, so far as I could hear, and with a
compassionate glance at the old man who had turned breathlessly again to
listen, proceeded on my way without another word.

The old fellow was daft. A century old, and daft.

I had worked my way out through the vines which still encumbered the
porch, and was taking my first steps down the walk, when some im