e constant shaking of his palsied limbs, was gradually
exhausting him. His mind remained clear. Philip and Mrs. Foster nursed him
between them. She was so tired by the many months during which she had
been attentive to all his wants that Philip insisted on sitting up with
the patient so that she might have her night's rest. He passed the long
hours in an arm-chair so that he should not sleep soundly, and read by the
light of shaded candles The Thousand and One Nights. He had not read
them since he was a little boy, and they brought back his childhood to
him. Sometimes he sat and listened to the silence of the night. When the
effects of the opiate wore off Mr. Carey grew restless and kept him
constantly busy.

At last, early one morning, when the birds were chattering noisily in the
trees, he heard his name called. He went up to the bed. Mr. Carey was
lying on his back, with his eyes looking at the ceiling; he did not turn
them on Philip. Philip saw that sweat was on his forehead, and he took a
towel and wiped it.

"Is that you, Philip?" the old man asked.

Philip was startled because the voice was suddenly changed. It was hoarse
and low. So would a man speak if he was cold with fear.

"Yes, d'you want anything?"

There was a pause, and still the unseeing eyes stared at the ceiling. Then
a twitch passed over the face.

"I think I'm going to die," he said.

"Oh, what nonsense!" cried Philip. "You're not going to die for years."

Two tears were wrung from the old man's eyes. They moved Philip horribly.
His uncle had never betrayed any particular emotion in the affairs of
life; and it was dreadful to see them now, for they signified a terror
that was unspeakable.

"Send for Mr. Simmonds," he said. "I want to take the Communion."

Mr. Simmonds was the curate.

"Now?" asked Philip.

"Soon, or else it'll be too late."

Philip went to awake Mrs. Foster, but it was later than he thought and she
was up already. He told her to send the gardener with a message, and he
went back to his uncle's room.

"Have you sent for Mr. Simmonds?"

"Yes."

There was a silence. Philip sat by the bed-side, and occasionally wiped
the sweating forehead.

"Let me hold your hand, Philip," the old man said at last.

Philip gave him his hand and he clung to it as to life, for comfort in his
extremity. Perhaps he had never really loved anyone in all his days, but
now he turned instinctively to a human being. His hand was wet and col