unto the death, that his devotion was entire, and
would leave nothing undone that could be done to lift this sheep out
of the pit into whose darkness and filth he had fallen out of the sweet
Sabbath of the universe?

He removed all his clothes, searched the pockets, found in them one poor
shilling and a few coppers, a black cutty pipe, a box of snuff, a screw
of pigtail, a knife with a buckhorn handle and one broken blade, and
a pawn-ticket for a keyed flute, on the proceeds of which he was now
sleeping--a sleep how dearly purchased, when he might have had it free,
as the gift of God's gentle darkness! Then he destroyed the garments,
committing them to the fire as the hoped farewell to the state of which
they were the symbols and signs.

He found himself perplexed, however, by the absence of some of the usual
symptoms of the habit of opium, and concluded that his poor father was
in the habit of using stimulants as well as narcotics, and that the
action of the one interfered with the action of the other.

He called his housekeeper. She did not know whom her master supposed
his guest to be, and regarded him only as one of the many objects of his
kindness. He told her to get some tea ready, as the patient would most
likely wake with a headache. He instructed her to wait upon him as a
matter of course, and explain nothing. He had resolved to pass for the
doctor, as indeed he was; and he told her that if he should be at all
troublesome, he would be with her at once. She must keep the room dark.
He would have his own breakfast now; and if the patient remained quiet,
would sleep on the sofa.

He woke murmuring, and evidently suffered from headache and nausea. Mrs.
Ashton took him some tea. He refused it with an oath--more of discomfort
than of ill-nature--and was too unwell to show any curiosity about the
person who had offered it. Probably he was accustomed to so many changes
of abode, and to so many bewilderments of the brain, that he did not
care to inquire where he was or who waited upon him. But happily for the
heart's desire of Falconer, the debauchery of his father had at length
reached one of many crises. He had caught cold before De Fleuri and his
comrades found him. He was now ill--feverish and oppressed. Through the
whole of the following week they nursed and waited upon him without his
asking a single question as to where he was or who they were; during all
which time Falconer saw no one but De Fleuri and the ma