SCYTHROP was still in this position, when Raven entered to announce that dinner was on table.

“I cannot come,” said Scythrop.

Raven sighed. “Something is the matter,” said Raven: “but man is born to trouble.”

“Leave me,” said Scythrop: “go, and croak elsewhere.”

“Thus it is,” said Raven. “Five-and-twenty years have I lived in Nightmare Abbey, and now all the reward of my affection is—Go, and croak elsewhere. I have danced you on my knee, and fed you with marrow.”

“Good Raven,” said Scythrop, “I entreat you to leave me.”

“Shall I bring your dinner here?” said Raven. “A boiled fowl and a glass of madeira are prescribed by the faculty in cases of low spirits. But you had better join the party: it is very much reduced already.”

“Reduced! how?”

“The Honourable Mr. Listless is gone. He declared that, what with family quarrels in the morning, and ghosts at night, he could get neither sleep nor peace; and that the agitation was too much for his nerves: though Mr. Glowry assured him that the ghost was only poor Crow walking in his sleep, and that the shroud and bloody turban were a sheet and a red nightcap.”

“Well, sir?”

“The Reverend Mr. Larynx has been called off on duty, to marry or bury (I don't know which) some unfortunate person or persons at Claydyke: but man is born to trouble.”

“Is that all?”

“No. Mr. Toobad is gone too, and a strange lady with him.”

“Gone!”

“Gone. And Mr. and Mrs. Hilary, and Miss O’Carroll: they are all gone. There is nobody left but Mr. Asterias and his son, and they are going to-night.”

“Then I have lost them both.”

“Wo’n't you come to dinner?”

“No.”

“Shall I bring your dinner here?”

“Yes.”

“What will you have?”

“A pint of port and a pistol.”∗

“A pistol!”

“And a pint of port. I will make my exit like Werter. Go. Stay. Did Miss O’Carroll say any thing?”