t go back again; 'tisn't no place for you; you'll see all, my
darling, time enough--you will. There now, there, like a dear, do get into
your room.'

What was that dreadful sound? Who had entered my father's chamber? It was
the visitor whom we had so long expected, with whom he was to make the
unknown journey, leaving me alone. The intruder was Death!

CHAPTER XXI

_ARRIVALS_

My father was dead--as suddenly as if he had been murdered. One of those
fearful aneurisms that lie close to the heart, showing no outward sign of
giving way in a moment, had been detected a good time since by Dr. Bryerly.
My father knew what must happen, and that it could not be long deferred.
He feared to tell me that he was soon to die. He hinted it only in the
allegory of his journey, and left in that sad enigma some words of true
consolation that remained with me ever after. Under his rugged ways was
hidden a wonderful tenderness. I could not believe that he was actually
dead. Most people for a minute or two, in the wild tumult of such a shock,
have experienced the same skepticism. I insisted that the doctor should be
instantly sent for from the village.

'Well, Miss Maud, dear, I _will_ send to please you, but it is all to no
use. If only you saw him yourself you'd know that. Mary Quince, run you
down and tell Thomas, Miss Maud desires he'll go down this minute to the
village for Dr. Elweys.'

Every minute of the interval seemed to me like an hour. I don't know what
I said, but I fancied that if he were not already dead, he would lose his
life by the delay. I suppose I was speaking very wildly, for Mrs. Rusk
said--

'My dear child, you ought to come in and see him; indeed but you should,
Miss Maud. He's quite dead an hour ago. You'd wonder all the blood that's
come from him--you would indeed; it's soaked through the bed already.'

'Oh, don't, don't, _don't_, Mrs. Rusk.'

'Will you come in and see him, just?

'Oh, no, no, no, no!'

'Well, then, my dear, don't of course, if you don't like; there's no need.
Would not you like to lie down, Miss Maud? Mary Quince, attend to her. I
must go into the room for a minute or two.'

I was walking up and down the room in distraction. It was a cool night; but
I did not feel it. I could only cry:--'Oh, Mary, Mary! what shall I do? Oh,
Mary Quince! what shall I do?'

It seemed to me it must be near daylight by the time the Doctor arrived. I
had dressed myself. I dared not go into the