Meanwhile, back in the old Pyncheon house, Judge Jaffrey Pyncheon remains seated in the foreboding house, heedless of time. This is odd, because he is burdened with engagements—he should see Clifford, and then he should see his broker, attend an auction to add a parcel of land to the Pyncheon holdings, buy a house, check on his wife's fallen tombstone, give generously to his political party and a trifle to a needy widow, and consult with his doctor about his throbbing heart. He also has a private political dinner to attend, with all manner of luxurious foods and wines. Will he be nominated for governor? This is indeed a keen matter, for there is blood on the Judge's shirt front. Darkness falls and covers the Judge's figure, and, meanwhile, the Judge's watch continues to tick on. The wind rises. One might easily imagine at this point that the seated figure might well be viewing a procession of Pyncheon ghosts—including those of the Judge himself and his son. The moon rises, and a mouse approaches the seated figure. Is that a cat outside or the devil watching for a soul? By dawn, the Judge's watch has stopped ticking. A fly crawls toward the open, lifeless, staring eyes of the Judge.
