I know you think it, though you tell me you don't.
Stop; before we say another word, your own eyes shall convince you.

Come here--only for a minute--only for one minute!" I followed him into his bedroom, which opened out of the sitting-room.
At one side of his bed stood a large packing-case of plain wood, upward of seven feet in length.
"Open the lid and look in," he said, "while I hold the candle so that you can see." I obeyed his directions, and discovered to my astonishment that the packing-case contained a leaden coffin, magnificently emblazoned with the arms of the Monkton family, and inscribed in old-fashioned letters with the name of "Stephen Monkton," his age and the manner of his death being added underneath.
"I keep his coffin ready for him," whispered Alfred, close at my ear.
"Does that look like earnest ?" It looked more like insanity--so like that I shrank from answering him.
"Yes! yes! I see you are convinced," he continued quickly; "we may go back into the next room, and may talk without restraint on either side now." On returning to our places, I mechanically moved my chair away from the table.

My mind was by this time in such a state of confusion and uncertainty about what it would be best for me to say or do next, that I forgot for the moment the position he had assigned to me when we lit the candles.

He reminded me of this directly.
"Don't move away," he said, very earnestly; "keep on sitting in the light; pray do! I'll soon tell you why I am so particular about that.

But first give me your advice; help me in my great distress and suspense.