st, as if the
lightest weight added to his agony; yet through it all, his eyes never
lost their perfect serenity, and the man's soul seemed to sit therein,
undaunted by the ills that vexed his flesh.

One by one, the men woke, and round the room appeared a circle of pale
faces and watchful eyes, full of awe and pity; for, though a stranger,
John was beloved by all. Each man there had wondered at his patience,
respected his piety, admired his fortitude, and now lamented his hard
death; for the influence of an upright nature had made itself deeply
felt, even in one little week. Presently, the Jonathan who so loved
this comely David, came creeping from his bed for a last look and word.
The kind soul was full of trouble, as the choke in his voice, the grasp
of his hand, betrayed; but there were no tears, and the farewell of the
friends was the more touching for its brevity.

"Old boy, how are you?" faltered the one.

"Most through, thank heaven!" whispered the other.

"Can I say or do anything for you anywheres?"

"Take my things home, and tell them that I did my best."

"I will! I will!"

"Good bye, Ned."

"Good bye, John, good bye!"

They kissed each other, tenderly as women, and so parted, for poor Ned
could not stay to see his comrade die. For a little while, there was no
sound in the room but the drip of water, from a stump or two, and
John's distressful gasps, as he slowly breathed his life away. I
thought him nearly gone, and had just laid down the fan, believing its
help to be no longer needed, when suddenly he rose up in his bed, and
cried out with a bitter cry that broke the silence, sharply startling
every one with its agonized appeal:

"For God's sake, give me air!"

It was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boon he
had asked; and none of us could grant it, for all the airs that blew
were useless now. Dan flung up the window. The first red streak of dawn
was warming the grey east, a herald of the coming sun; John saw it, and
with the love of light which lingers in us to the end, seemed to read
in it a sign of hope of help, for, over his whole face there broke that
mysterious expression, brighter than any smile, which often comes to
eyes that look their last. He laid himself gently down; and, stretching
out his strong right arm, as if to grasp and bring the blessed air to
his lips in a fuller flow, lapsed into a merciful unconsciousness,
which assured us that for him suffering w