e as well to
observe, that it is possible to feel deeply, and yet make no outward
sign.

And now for the closing scene.

At the dead hour of night, it might be about two, I was awakened from
sleep by a cry which sounded from the room immediately below that in
which I slept. I knew the cry, it was the cry of my mother; and I also
knew its import, yet I made no effort to rise, for I was for the moment
paralysed. Again the cry sounded, yet still I lay motionless--the
stupidity of horror was upon me. A third time, and it was then that, by
a violent effort, bursting the spell which appeared to bind me, I sprang
from the bed and rushed downstairs. My mother was running wildly about
the room; she had awoke, and found my father senseless in the bed by her
side. I essayed to raise him, and after a few efforts supported him in
the bed in a sitting posture. My brother now rushed in, and, snatching
up a light that was burning, he held it to my father's face. 'The
surgeon, the surgeon!' he cried; then, dropping the light, he ran out of
the room followed by my mother; I remained alone, supporting the
senseless form of my father; the light had been extinguished by the fall,
and an almost total darkness reigned in the room. The form pressed
heavily against my bosom--at last methought it moved. Yes, I was right,
there was a heaving of the breast, and then a gasping. Were those words
which I heard? Yes, they were words, low and indistinct at first, and
then audible. The mind of the dying man was reverting to former scenes.
I heard him mention names which I had often heard him mention before. It
was an awful moment; I felt stupefied, but I still contrived to support
my dying father. There was a pause, again my father spoke: I heard him
speak of Minden, and of Meredith, the old Minden sergeant, and then he
uttered another name, which at one period of his life was much in his
lips, the name of . . . but this is a solemn moment! There was a deep
gasp: I shook, and thought all was over; but I was mistaken--my father
moved, and revived for a moment; he supported himself in bed without my
assistance. I make no doubt that for a moment he was perfectly sensible,
and it was then that, clasping his hands, he uttered another name
clearly, distinctly--it was the name of Christ. With that name upon his
lips, the brave old soldier sank back upon my bosom, and, with his hands
still clasped, yielded up his soul.

CHAPTER XXIX