followed almost immediately by the bell of our parish church, which rang
out a merry peal.

"That'll beat 'em, I say," cried my father, and laughing in his triumph
he tramped the flagged floor with a firmer step than ever.

All at once the crying of the child ceased and there was a confused
rumble of voices overhead. My father stopped, his face straightened, and
his voice, which had rung out like a horn, wheezed back like a whistle.

"What's going doing? Where's Conrad? Why doesn't Conrad come to me?"

"Don't worry. He'll be down presently," said Father Dan.

A few minutes passed, in which nothing was said and nothing heard, and
then, unable to bear the suspense any longer, my father went to the foot
of the staircase and shouted the doctor's name.

A moment later the doctor's footsteps were heard on the stone stairs.
They were hesitating, halting, dragging footsteps. Then the doctor
entered my father's room. Even in the sullen light of the peat fire his
face was white, ashen white. He did not speak at first, and there was an
instant of silence, dead silence. Then my father said:

"Well, what is it?"

"It is . . ."

"Speak man! . . . Do you mean it is . . . _dead?_"