He had sat by the hearth a long, long time, absorbed in his thoughts, not once looking round toward the bed, when he was startled by hearing the sound of his grandfather's voice once more.
"Gabriel," whispered the old man, trembling and shrinking as he spoke, "Gabriel, do you hear a dripping of water—now slow, now quick again—on the floor at the foot of my bed?"
"I hear nothing, grandfather, but the crackling of the fire, and the roaring of the storm outside."
"Drip, drip, drip! Faster and faster; plainer and plainer. Take the torch, Gabriel; look down on the floor—look with all your eyes. Is the place wet there? Is it the rain from heaven that is dropping through the roof?"
Gabriel took the torch with trembling fingers and knelt down on the floor to examine it closely. He started back
