Millicent, creeping into the room after an absence, 'Uncle
Meshach is here with Mr. Twemlow, and he says he's coming in. Must he?'

'Of course, darling,' Leonora answered, without turning her head.

Uncle Meshach appeared, leaning on his stick and on Arthur's arm. He
wore his overcoat and even his hat, and a white knitted muffler
encircled his shrivelled neck in loose folds. No one spoke as the old
and feeble man, with short uncertain steps, drew Arthur towards the bed
and gazed at his dying nephew. Meshach looked long, and sighed. Suddenly
he demanded of Leonora in a whisper:

'Is he unconscious?'

Leonora nodded.

Drawing a little nearer to the bed, Meshach signed to Millicent to
approach, and gave her his stick. Then he unbuttoned his overcoat, and
his coat, and the flap-pocket of his trousers, and after much searching
found a box of matches. He shook out a match clumsily, and struck it,
and came still nearer to the bed. All wondered apprehensively what the
old man was going to do, but none dared interfere or protest because he
was so old, and so precariously attached to life, and because he was the
head of the family. With his thin, veined, trembling hand, he passed the
lighted match close across John's eyeballs; not a muscle twitched. Then
he extinguished the match, put it in the box, returned the box to his
pocket, and buttoned the pocket and his coats.

'Ay!' he breathed. 'The lad's unconscious right enough. Let's be going.'

Taking his stick from Milly, he clutched Arthur's arm again, and very
slowly left the room.

After a moment's hesitation Leonora followed and overtook them at the
bottom of the stairs; it was the first time she had forsaken the
bedside. She was surprised to see Fred Ryley in the hall, self-conscious
but apparently determined to be quite at home. She remembered that he
said he should come up again as soon as he had arranged matters at the
works.

'Just take Mr. Myatt to the cab, will you?' said Twemlow quietly to
Fred. 'I'll follow.'

'Certainly,' Fred agreed, pulling his moustache nervously. 'Now, Mr.
Myatt, let me help you.'

'Ay!' said Meshach. 'Thou shalt help me if thou'n a mind.' As he was
feeling for the step with his stick he stopped and looked round at
Leonora. 'Lass!' he exclaimed, 'thou toldst me John was i' smooth
water.' Then he departed and they could hear his shuffling steps on the
gravel.

Twemlow glanced inquiringly at Leonora.

'Come in here,' she said brief