mourning for Dr. Raynor.
"I'll ring for lights," said Charles. "I can't see, either."
The talking had aroused the major. "We don't want lights yet," said he. "It is pleasanter as it is."
"Sing the songs you know by heart," whispered William Stane. "After all, they are the best and sweetest."
Presently Lamb came in of his own accord, with the wax-lights. The major, waking up again, made no objection now, but forbade the shutters to be closed.
"It's a pity to shut out that moonlight," said he. Not that the moonlight could have interested him much, for in another minute he was asleep again. He had grown strangely drowsy of late. So the room was lighted up, and the moonlight streamed in at the window.
Frank entered. He had been sitting upstairs with his wife, who was still very ill. In fact, this had been an unusually prolonged and critical sickness. Taking up his