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He took the candle, with all the haste he could, getting along the passage, on whose wails the same dance of black shadows was continued, very anxious to reach his room before the light should go out. He was startled half out of his wits by the sudden clang of hismaster’s bell, close over his head, ringing furiously.

“Ha, ha! There it goes-yes, sure enough,” said Cooper, reassuring himself with the sound of his own voice, as he hastened on, hearing more and more distinct every moment the same furious ringing.”He’s fell asleep, like me; that’s it, and his lights is out, I lay you fifty-“

When he turned the handle of the door of the oak parlor, the squire wildly called, “Who’sthere?”in the tone of a man who expects a robber.

“It’s me, old Cooper, all right, Master Charlie, you didn’t come to the kitchen after all, sir.”

“I’m very bad, Cooper; I don’t know how I’ve been. Did you meet anything?” asked the squire.

“No,” said Cooper.

They stared at one another.

“Come here-stay here! Don’t you leave me! Look round the room, and say is all right; and gie us your hand, old Cooper, for I must hold it.” The squire’s was damp and cold, and trembled very much. It was not very far from daybreak now.

After a time he spoke again: “I ‘a done many a thing I shouldn’t; I’m not fit to go, and wi’ God’s ble
ssin’ I’ll look to it-why shouldn’t I? I’m as lame as old Billy-I’ll never be able to do any good no more, and I’ll give over drinking, and marry, as I ought to ‘a done long ago-none o’ yet fine ladies, but a good homely wench; there’s Farmer Crump’s youngest daughter, a good lass, and discreet. What for shouldn’t I take her? She’d take care o’ me, and wouldn’t bring a head full o’ romances here, and mantua-makers’ trumpery, and I’ll talk with the parson, and I’ll do what’s fair wi’ everyone and mind, I said I’m sorry for many a thing I ‘a done.”

A wild cold dawn had by this time broken. The squire, Cooper said, looked “awful bad,” as he got his hat and stick, and sallied out for a walk, instead of going to his bed, as Cooper besought him, looking so wild and distracted, that it was plain his object was simply to escape from tile house. It was twelve o’clock when the squire walked into the kitchen, where he was sure of finding some of the servants, looking as if ten years had passed over him since yesterday. He pulled a stool by tile fire, without speaking a word, and sat down. Cooper had sent to Applebury for the doctor, who had just arrived, but the squire would not go to him.”If he wants to see me, he may come here,” he muttered as often as Cooper urged him. So the doctor did come, charily enough, and found the squire very much worse than he had expected.

The squire resisted the order to get to his bed. But the doctor insisted under a threat of death, at which his patient quailed.

“Well, I’ll do what you say-only this-you must let old Cooper and Dick Keeper stay wi’ me. I mustn’t be left alone, and they must keep awake o’ nights; and stay a while, doyou. When I get round a bit, I’ll go and live in a town. It’s dull livin’ here, now that I can’t do nou’t, as I used, and I’ll live a better life, mind ye; ye heard me say that, and I don’t care who laughs, and I’ll talk wi’ the parson. I like ’em to laugh, hang ’em, it’s a sign I’m doin’ right, at last.”