There the man who arrived every morning to light the fires found them,
the servant dead, and Lord Rantremly helpless from an attack of
paralysis. The physicians say that only his eyes seemed alive, and
they were filled with a great fear, and indeed that is not to be
wondered at, after his wicked, wicked life. His right hand was but
partially disabled, and with that he tried to scribble something which
proved indecipherable. And so he died, and those who attended him at
his last moments say that if ever a soul had a taste of future
punishment before it left this earth, it was the soul of Lord
Rantremly as it shone through those terror-stricken eyes.'
Here the woman stopped, with a catch in her breath, as if the fear of
that grim death-bed had communicated itself to her. I interjected
calmness into an emotional situation by remarking in a commonplace
tone,--'And it is the present Lord Rantremly who proposes to destroy
the Castle, I suppose?'
'Yes.'
'Is he the son of the late lord?'
'No; he is a distant relative. The branch of the family to which he
belongs has been engaged in commerce, and, I believe, its members are
very wealthy.'
'Well, madam, no doubt this is all extremely interesting, and rather
gruesome.
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