hairbrush and old cast-off razor-case that had belonged to my
grandfather were not on the dressing-table. Had he got some other
bedroom? I went out on the landing and called softly, with an
unaccountable terror and sinking at my heart:

"Uncle George!"

Nobody answered; but my aunt came hastily up the garret stairs.

"Hush!" she said. "You must never call that name out here again!"

She stopped suddenly, and looked as if her own words had
frightened her.

"Is Uncle George dead?" I asked. My aunt turned red and pale, and
stammered.

I did not wait to hear what she said. I brushed past her, down
the stairs. My heart was bursting--my flesh felt cold. I ran
breathlessly and recklessly into the room where my father and
mother had received me. They were both sitting there still. I ran
up to them, wringing my hands, and crying out in a passion of
tears:

"Is Uncle George dead?"

My mother gave a scream that terrified me into instant silence
and stillness. My father looked at her for a moment, rang the
bell that summoned the maid, then seized me roughly by the arm
and dragged me out of the room.