But that
some very great anxiety was racking him might be seen by the most casual
observer. It had been racking him for a long time past, and it was
growing worse now. And it appeared to be what he could not, or would
not, speak of.

The news of the dangerous change in the master of Verner's Pride
circulated through the vicinity, and it brought forth, amidst other of
his friends, Mr. Bitterworth. This was on the second day of the change.
Tynn received Mr. Bitterworth in the hall.

"There's no hope, sir, I'm afraid," was Tynn's answer to his inquiries.
"He's not in much pain of body, but he is dreadfully anxious and
uneasy."

"What about?" asked Mr. Bitterworth, who was a little man with a pimpled
face.

"Nobody knows, sir; he doesn't say. For myself, I can only think it must
be about something connected with the estate. What else can it be?"

"I suppose I can see him, Tynn?"

"I'll ask, sir. He refuses visitors in his room, but I dare say he'll
admit you."

Lionel came to Mr. Bitterworth in the drawing-room. "My uncle will see
you," he said, after greetings had passed.

"Tynn informs me that he appears to be uneasy in his mind," observed Mr.
Bitterworth.

"A man so changed, as he has been in the last two years, I have never
seen," replied Lionel. "None can have failed to remark it. From entire
calmness of mind, he has exhibited anxious restlessness; I may say
irritability. Mrs. Verner is ill," Lionel added, as they were ascending
the stairs. "She has not been out of bed for two days."

Not in his study now; he had done with the lower part of the house for
ever; but in his bed-chamber, never to come out of it alive, was Mr.
Verner. They had got him up, and he sat in an easy-chair by the bedside,
partially dressed, and wrapped in his dressing-gown. On his pale, worn
face there were the unmistakable signs of death. He and Mr. Bitterworth
were left alone.

"So you have come to see the last of me, Bitterworth!" was the remark of
Mr. Verner.

"Not the last yet, I hope," heartily responded Mr. Bitterworth, who was
an older man than Mr. Verner, but hale and active. "You may rally from
this attack and get about again. Remember how many serious attacks you
have had."

"None like this. The end must come; and it has come now. Hush,
Bitterworth! To speak of recovery to me is worse than child's play. I
_know_ my time has come. And I am glad to meet it, for it releases me
from a world of care."

"Were there any in