And he rushed out of the study. When his son had left him, Morrel
remained an instant standing with his eyes fixed on the door; then
putting forth his arm, he pulled the bell. After a moment's interval,
Cocles appeared.

It was no longer the same man--the fearful revelations of the three last
days had crushed him. This thought--the house of Morrel is about to stop
payment--bent him to the earth more than twenty years would otherwise
have done.

"My worthy Cocles," said Morrel in a tone impossible to describe, "do
you remain in the ante-chamber. When the gentleman who came three months
ago--the agent of Thomson & French--arrives, announce his arrival to
me." Cocles made no reply; he made a sign with his head, went into the
anteroom, and seated himself. Morrel fell back in his chair, his eyes
fixed on the clock; there were seven minutes left, that was all. The
hand moved on with incredible rapidity, he seemed to see its motion.

What passed in the mind of this man at the supreme moment of his agony
cannot be told in words. He was still comparatively young, he was
surrounded by the loving care of a devoted family, but he had convinced
himself by a course of reasoning, illogical perhaps, yet certainly
plausible, that he must separate himself from all he held dear in the
world, even life itself. To form the slightest idea of his feelings, one
must have seen his face with its expression of enforced resignation and
its tear-moistened eyes raised to heaven. The minute hand moved on.
The pistols were loaded; he stretched forth his hand, took one up, and
murmured his daughter's name. Then he laid it down seized his pen, and
wrote a few words. It seemed to him as if he had not taken a sufficient
farewell of his beloved daughter. Then he turned again to the clock,
counting time now not by minutes, but by seconds. He took up the deadly
weapon again, his lips parted and his eyes fixed on the clock, and then
shuddered at the click of the trigger as he cocked the pistol. At this
moment of mortal anguish the cold sweat came forth upon his brow, a pang
stronger than death clutched at his heart-strings. He heard the door of
the staircase creak on its hinges--the clock gave its warning to strike
eleven--the door of his study opened; Morrel did not turn round--he
expected these words of Cocles, "The agent of Thomson & French."

He placed the muzzle of the pistol between his teeth. Suddenly he heard
a cry--it was his daughter's voice.