Even our positions at the table were altered now.

Under the pretense that the light hurt my eyes, I moved back into a dim corner, to keep my anxious face out of view.

Morgan, looking at me hard, and muttering under his breath, "Thank Heaven, I never married!" stole his chair by degrees, with rough, silent kindness, nearer and nearer to mine.

Jessie, after a moment's hesitation, vacated her place next, and, saying that she wanted to sit close to one of us on the farewell night, took a chair at Owen's side.

Sad! sad! we had instinctively broken up already, so far as our places at the table were concerned, before the reading of the last story had so much as begun.
It was a relief when Owen' s quiet voice stole over the weary silence, and pleaded for our attention to the occupation of the night.
"Number Six," he said, "is the number that chance has left to remain till the last.