d them to endure all things
rather than desert their aged master in the hour of his utmost need.

Towards the close of that sad winter succeeding the death of Mrs
Eleanor, Hallings (as I have since heard from him) observed an unwonted
degree of restlessness in his master, and at times, after having been
closeted with Mr Heneage and an attorney, who now frequently accompanied
the latter to the Hall--at such times especially a feverish and flushed
excitement, during the continuance of which his ideas seemed to wander,
and he uttered expressions which gave but too much ground of probability
to those rumours I have alluded to.

On one of those occasions, when the forlorn old man had, as it seemed,
been driven by his evil genius almost to the verge of desperation, his
faithful servant, urged on by uncontrollable feeling, ventured, for the
first time, to hint at the secret source of this overwhelming misery,
and to press upon him the entreaty that he would open his heart freely
to some old and true friend. "See Mr L----, sir!" implored the worthy
Hallings; "for God's sake, my dear, dear master! let me send directly
for Mr L----, or go to him and tell him you would speak with him
immediately."

For a moment Mr Devereux seemed as if half moved to compliance with the
prayer of his attached servant. For a moment he sat in trembling
agitation, with half-opened lips and eyes fixed on Hallings, as if about
to give the permission so earnestly supplicated; but the indecision
ended fatally. Slowly and mournfully shaking his head, as it sank upon
his breast, he waved his hand rejectingly, and faintly murmured in an
inward tone, "Too late! too late! Leave me, good Hallings! Your master
will not be long a trouble to you;--but he has lived too long."

On the day succeeding that on which this scene took place, Mr Devereux
was again shut up in conference with Cousin Heneage and his assistant
friend, the convenient scrivener. Hallings's anxiety kept him hovering
near the library where they were convened, and more than once he heard
the hateful grating voice of Cousin Heneage raised to a threatening
loudness, and then, after a pause, his master's well-known accents,
apparently pleading with pathetic earnestness, till overpowered by the
discordant tones of his kinsman and the attorney.

"At last," said Hallings, "I could distinguish a sort of choking,
gasping cry, and a hysterical sob from my dear master; and then I could
bear it no longer