He met Violet in the hall, just as old John had admitted her.  She was closely followed by the nurse and the child.

“How is father?” she inquired.

“He is very ill, my dear, but resting quietly just at present.  Here is Martha; she will take you to your room and make you and the baby comfortable.  Then, as soon as you can, come to the father’s chamber; you know where to find it,” said Mr. Fabian, who feared to shock his sensitive wife by telling her that he was sinking fast, and thought that it would be safer to let her come into the room and join the group around the bed, and gradually learn the sad truth by her own observation.

“Yes; I can find my way very well,” answered Violet, as she handed her bag, shawl, and umbrella to Martha, and followed the housekeeper up stairs, with the nurse and baby.

Mr. Fabian returned to the chamber of the dying man, around whose bed the group remained as he had left it, and where in a very few minutes he was joined by Violet.  She entered the room very softly, so that her approach was not heard until she reached the bedside.  Then she took and silently pressed the hands that were silently held out by Cora, and finally she knelt down beside her.

More hours passed; no one left the sick room, for no one knew how soon the end might come.  Old John thoughtfully brought in a waiter of refreshments and set it down on a side table for any one who might require it.

Day declined.  Through the front windows of the death room the western sky could be seen, dark, lowering, and stormy.  A long range of heavy clouds lay massed above the horizon, obscuring the light of the sinking sun, but leaving a narrow line of clear sky just along the top of the western ridge.

Presently a singularly beautiful effect was produced.  The sun, sinking below the dark cloud into the clear gold line of sky, sent forth a blaze of light from the mountain heights, across the river, and into the chamber of death!  Was it this sudden illumination that kindled the fire of life in the dying man into a last expiring flame, or was it indeed the presence of a spiritual visitant, visible only to the vanishing spirit?  Who can tell?

Suddenly old Aaron Rockharrt opened his eyes—­those great, strong black eyes that had ever been a terror to the evil doer—­and the well doer also—­and stared before him, held up his hands and exclaimed: 

“Deborah!  Deborah!”

And then he dropped his arms by his side, and with a long, deep-drawn sigh fell asleep.  The name of his old wife was the last word upon his dying lips.

No one but the doctor knew what had happened.  He bent over the lifeless shell, gazed on the face, felt the pulse, felt the heart, and then stood up and said: 

“All is over, my dear friends.  His passage has been quite painless.  I never saw an easier death.”

And he drew up the sheet over the face of the dead.