As Viola's eyes encountered the reflection, and read in it terror and alarm, Corinne spoke in a quick, frightened voice:
"Look at the colonel, Viola. He looks so queer. I don't like him."
Viola was at his side before the child had ceased speaking.
The colonel's head had dropped forward on his breast. A yellowish, waxen hue had spread over his face, and his eyes, cold and brooding, were staring straight before him.
"Father!" she said, touching his hand with a strange fearfulness she had never felt before.
The word sounded portentously loud in the deep, mysterious stillness that had settled on the room. Awe of something majestic and terrible clutched Viola's heart. As she stood staring, she heard the child screaming down the hall:
"Mommer! Mommer! the colonel 's sick again, and his eyes are open. Oh, come quick—come quick!"
A moment later Mrs. Seymour's heavy footfall sounded at the doorway, and she entered panting. As her glance fell on the colonel, she gave a sharp sound.
"What is it?" whispered Viola, her tongue suddenly dry and stiff as a piece of leather. "He won't speak."
Mrs. Seymour stepped forward, and laying
