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"The brothers were waiting in a room down-stairs, impatient to

ride away. I had heard them, alone at the bedside, striking their

boots with their riding-whips, and loitering up and down.

"'At last she is dead?' said the elder, when I went in.

"'She is dead,' said I.

"'I congratulate you, my brother,' were his words as he turned

round.

"He had before offered me money, which I had postponed taking. He

now gave me a rouleau of gold. I took it from his hand, but laid

it on the table. I had considered the question, and had resolved

to accept nothing.

"'Pray excuse me,' said I. 'Under the circumstances, no.'

"They exchanged looks, but bent their heads to me as I bent mine

to them, and we parted without another word on either side.

*****

"I am weary, weary, weary--worn down by misery. I cannot read

what I have written with this gaunt hand.