I expected."

"Gentlemen," said Ranulph, "do not let my unexpected arrival here
discompose you. Dr. Small, you will excuse the manner of my greeting;
and you, Mr. Coates. One of the present party, I believe, was my
father's medical attendant, Dr. Tyrconnel."

"I had that honor," replied the Irishman, bowing profoundly--"I am Dr.
Tyrconnel, Sir Ranulph, at your service."

"When, and at what hour, did my father breathe his last, sir?" inquired
Ranulph.

"Poor Sir Piers," answered Titus, again bowing, "departed this life on
Thursday last."

"The hour?--the precise minute?" asked Ranulph, eagerly.

"Troth, Sir Ranulph, as nearly as I can recollect, it might be a few
minutes before midnight."

"The very hour!" exclaimed Ranulph, striding towards the window. His
steps were arrested as his eye fell upon the attire of his father,
which, as we have before noticed, hung at that end of the room. A slight
shudder passed over his frame. There was a momentary pause, during which
Ranulph continued gazing intently at the apparel. "The very dress, too!"
muttered he; then turning to the assembly, who were watching his
movements with surprise; "Doctor," said he, addressing Small, "I have
something for your private ear. Gentlemen, will you spare us the room
for a few minutes?"

"On my conscience," said Tyrconnel to Jack Palmer, as they quitted the
sanctum, "a mighty fine boy is this young Sir Ranulph!--and a chip of
the ould block!--he'll be as good a fellow as his father."

"No doubt," replied Palmer, shutting the door. "But what the devil
brought him back, just in the nick of it?"

_CHAPTER X_

_RANULPH ROOKWOOD_

_Fer._ Yes, Francisco,
He hath left his curse upon me.

_Fran._ How?

_Fer._ His curse I dost comprehend what that word carries?
Shot from a father's angry breath? Unless
I tear poor Felisarda from my heart,
He hath pronounced me heir to all his curses.

SHIRLEY: _The Brothers_.

"There is nothing, I trust, my dear young friend, and quondam pupil,"
said Dr. Small, as the door was closed, "that weighs upon your mind,
beyond the sorrow naturally incident to an affliction, severe as the
present. Forgive my apprehensions if I am wrong. You know the
affectionate interest I have ever felt for you--an interest which, I
assure you, is nowise diminished, and which will excuse my urging you to
unburd