filling in dark days, living a sober-coloured game out. He had one
solitary hundred dollars--no more; and half of that he had borrowed, and
half of it he got from selling his shooting-traps and his hunting-watch.
He might worry along on that till the end of the game; but he had no
money to send his sister in that secluded village two hundred miles away.
She had never known how really poor he was; and she had lived in her
simple way without want and without any unusual anxiety, save for his
health. More than once he had practically starved himself to send money
to her. Perhaps also he would have starved others for the same purpose.

"I'll warrant the Casimbaults never enjoyed the Manor as much as I've
done that big kitchen in your house," he said, "and I can't see why you
want to leave it. Don't you feel sorry you are going to leave the old
place? Hadn't you got your own little spots there, and made friends with
them? I feel as if I should like to sit down by the side of your big,
warm chimney-corner, till the wind came along that blows out the candle."

"What do you mean by 'blowing out the candle'?" she asked.

"Well," he answered, "it means, shut up shop, drop the curtain, or
anything you like. It means X Y Z and the grand finale!"

"Oh!" she said, with a little start, as the thing dawned upon her.
"Don't speak like that; you're not going to die."

"Give me your handkerchief," he answered. "Give it to me, and I'll tell
you--how soon."

She jammed her hand down in her pocket. "No, I won't," she answered.
"I won't!"