The old man whimpered yet, but he was growing quieter.

Detricand lifted him up, and buttoning the shirt and straightening the coat again, he said: "Now, you're to go home and sleep the sleep of the unjust, and you're to keep the sixth commandment, and you're to tell no more lies.

You've made a shameful mess of your son's life, and you're to die now as soon as you can without attracting notice.

You're to pray for an accident to take you out of the world: a wind to blow you over a cliff, a roof to fall on you, a boat to go down with you, a hole in the ground to swallow you up, a fever or a plague to end you in a day." He opened the door to let him go; but suddenly catching his arms held him in a close grip.

"Hark!" he said in a mysterious whisper.
There was only the weird sound of the running water through the open trap-door of the floor.