chill: methinks
it is easier to wish thee farewell, Morton, when I see thy face
indistinctly. I am glad I shall not die in the daytime. Give me thy
hand, my child, and tell me that thou art not angry with thine old uncle
for thwarting thee in that love business. I have heard tales of the
girl, too, which made me glad, for thy sake, that it is all off, though
I might not tell thee of them before. 'Tis very dark, Morton. I have had
a pleasant sleep. Ods fish, I do not think a bad man would have slept so
well. The fire burns dim, Morton: it is very cold. Cover me up; double
the counterpane over the legs, Morton. I remember once walking in the
Mall; little Sid said, 'Devereux'--it is colder and colder, Morton;
raise the blankets more over the back; 'Devereux,' said little
Sid--faith, Morton, 'tis ice now--where art thou?--is the fire out, that
I can't see thee? Remember thine old uncle, Morton--and--and--don't
forget poor--Ponto. Bless thee, my child; bless you all!"

And my uncle died!

CHAPTER III.

A GREAT CHANGE OF PROSPECTS.

I SHUT myself up in the apartments prepared for me (they were not those
I had formerly occupied), and refused all participation in my solitude,
till, after an interval of some days, my mother came to summon me to the
opening of the will. She was more moved than I had expected. "It is a
pity," said she, as we descended the stairs, "that Aubrey is not here,
and that we should be so unacquainted with the exact place where he is
likely to be that I fear the letter I sent him may be long delayed, or,
indeed, altogether miscarry."

"Is not the Abbe here?" said I, listlessly.

"No!" answered my mother, "to be sure not."

"He has _been_ here," said I, greatly surprised. "I certainly saw him on
the day of my arrival."

"Impossible!" said my mother, in evident astonishment; and seeing that,
at all events, she was unacquainted with the circumstance, I said no
more.

The will was to be read in the little room where my uncle had been
accustomed to sit. I felt it as a sacrilege to his memory to choose that
spot for such an office, but I said nothing. Gerald and my mother, the
lawyer (a neighbouring attorney, named Oswald), and myself were the only
persons present. Mr. Oswald hemmed thrice, and broke the seal. After
a preliminary, strongly characteristic of the testator, he came to the
disposition of the estates. I had never once, since my poor uncle's
death, thought upon the chances of his will