She imagined that this afforded him some relief, and that his breathing was not quite so labored, but his condition drove her nearly frantic with fear and anxiety.

James was very expeditious in his movements, and in less than half an hour returned with the family physician.

“Oh, Doctor Hammond, what is the matter with him?” Mona cried, with a sinking heart, as she saw the grave expression that settled over the doctor’s face the moment he reached his patient’s side.

“An apoplectic attack,” he replied, thinking it best that she should know the truth, and so be somewhat prepared for what he feared must soon come.

The unconscious man was borne to his chamber, and everything which human skill could devise was done for him.  He rallied somewhat toward morning, but Doctor Hammond gave them no hope that he would ever be any better, or even retain his consciousness for any length of time.

The whole of his right side was helpless, and his tongue was also paralyzed, so that he was entirely speechless.

His efforts to talk were agonizing to witness, for he appeared to realize that his hours were numbered, and seemed to have something special on his mind that he wished to make those around him understand.

Mona alone, who never left his side, seemed able to interpret something of his meaning, and she asked him question after question trying to learn his desire; but he could only slowly move his head to signify that she did not yet understand.

“Oh, what shall I do?” she moaned, in despair; then a bright thought flashed upon her.  “Is there some one whom you wish to see, Uncle Walter?” she asked.

His eyes lighted, and a faint nod of the head told her that she had got hold of the right thread at last.

“Who is it?” she said, eagerly; then remembering his helplessness, she added:  “I will say over the letters of the alphabet, and when I reach the right one you must press my hand.”

This method proved more successful, and Mona finally spelled out the name of Graves.

“Graves—­Graves,” she repeated, with a puzzled look; then she cried, her face lighting:  “Oh, it is Mr. Graves, your lawyer, whom you want.”

Again the sufferer nodded, and weakly pushed her from him with his left hand to show that he wanted her to be quick about summoning the man.

In less than an hour Mr. Graves was in the sick-room, and by signs and questions and Mona’s use of the alphabet, he finally comprehended that Mr. Dinsmore wished him to draw up a will for him, leaving everything he had to Mona.

While the lawyer was thus engaged in the library, the invalid tried to make Mona understand that there was something else he wished to tell her, and she spelled out the word “mirror.”

“Oh, you want me to remember my promise never to part with it—­is that it, Uncle?” she asked.

“No,” he signaled, and looked so distressed that the much-tried girl sobbed outright.  But she quickly controlled her grief, and finally spelled the word “bring,” though her heart almost failed her as she realized that his left hand was fast becoming helpless like the other so that she could scarcely distinguish any pressure when she named a letter.