ry
high-backed, elaborately-carved, and Gothic chair, supported on all
sides by pillows, sat the attenuated figure of my father. I gazed upon
him with an eager curiosity, mingled with awe. His countenance was long
and ghastly--there was no beauty in it. Its principal expression was
terror. It was evident that his days were numbered. I looked upon him
intently. I challenged my heart for affection, and it made no answer.

Directly before my father was placed a table, covered with a rich and
gold-embroidered cloth, bordered with heavy gold fringe, upon which
stood four tall wax candles, surrounding a mimic altar surmounted by an
ebony crucifix. His chaplain, dressed in Popish canonicals, was
mumbling forth some form of prayer, and a splendidly-illuminated missal
lay open before him. There was also on the table a small marble basin
of water, and a curiously inlaid box filled with bones--relics, no
doubt--imbued with the spirit of miracle-working. The priest was
perhaps performing a private midnight mass.

The fitful attention that Sir Reginald gave to this office was painful
to contemplate. His mind was evidently wandering, and he could bring
himself to attend only at intervals. At another table, a little removed
from the one I have described, sat the person of the London attorney; he
had also two lights, and he was most busily employed in turning over and
indexing various folios of parchment. But I have yet to describe the
other figure--the, to me, loathsome person of my illegitimate
half-brother. He was on his knees, mumbling forth the responses and
joining in the prayers of the priest. He was paler and thinner than
usual; he looked, however, perfectly gentlemanly, and was scrupulously
well-dressed.

As yet, I had not heard the voice of Sir Reginald; his lips moved at
some of the responses that the two made audibly, but sound there was
none. At length, when there was a total cessation of the voices of the
other, and a silence so great in that vast apartment that the rustling
of the lawyer's parchments was distinctly heard, even where I stood--
even this hardened wretch seemed to feel the general awe of the moment,
and ceased to disturb the tomb-like silence.

In the midst of this, the prematurely-old Sir Reginald suddenly lifted
up his voice and exclaimed, loudly, in a tone of the most bitter
anguish, "Lord Jesu, have mercy upon me!"

The vast and ancient room echoed dolorously with the heart-broken
s