You will miss him." "More than I can say," said she, with a quiet depth of feeling.

"He died one morning early--I think I will tell you if you would care to hear," and she related to him the manner of Dermod's death, of which a chill was the occasion rather than the cause; for he died of a gradual dissolution rather than a definite disease.
It was a curious story which Ethne had to tell, for it seemed that just before his death Dermod recaptured something of his old masterful spirit.

"We knew that he was dying," Ethne said.

"He knew it too, and at seven o'clock of the afternoon after--" she hesitated for a moment and resumed, "after he had spoken for a little while to me, he called his dog by name.

The dog sprang at once on to the bed, though his voice had not risen above a whisper, and crouching quite close, pushed its muzzle with a whine under my father's hand.