“You understand it now, Trot,” said my aunt. “He is gone!”

“Did he die in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

She sat immovable beside me; but, again I saw the stray tears on her face.

“He was there once before,” said my aunt presently. “He was ailing a long time⁠—a shattered, broken man, these many years. When he knew his state in this last illness, he asked them to send for me. He was sorry then. Very sorry.”

“You went, I know, aunt.”

“I went. I was with him a good deal afterwards.”

“He died the night before we went to Canterbury?” said I. My aunt nodded. “No one can harm him now,” she said. “It was a vain threat.”