on. And, in Edwin, compassion
and irritation fought an interminable guerilla. Now one obtained the
advantage, now the other. His nerves demanded relief from the friction,
but he could offer them no holiday, not one single day's holiday. Twice
every day he had to manoeuvre and persuade that ponderous, irrational
body in his father's bedroom. Maggie helped the body to feed itself at
table. But Maggie apparently had no nerves.

"I shall never go down them stairs again," said Darius, as if in
fatigued disgust, on the ottoman.

"Oh, nonsense!" Edwin exclaimed.

Darius shook his head solemnly, and looked at vacancy.

"Well, we'll talk about that to-morrow," said Edwin, and with the skill
of regular practice drew out the ends of the bow of his father's
necktie. He had gradually evolved a complete code of rules covering the
entire process of the toilette, and he insisted on their observance.
Every article had its order in the ceremony and its place in the room.
Never had the room been so tidy, nor the rites so expeditious, as in the
final months of Darius's malady.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THREE.

The cumbrous body lay in bed. The bed was in an architecturally
contrived recess, sheltered from both the large window and the door.
Over its head was the gas-bracket and the bell-knob. At one side was a
night-table, and at the other a chair. In front of the night-table were
Darius's slippers. On the chair were certain clothes. From a hook near
the night-table, and almost over the slippers, hung his dressing-gown.
Seen from the bed, the dressing-table, at the window, appeared to be a
long way off, and the wardrobe was a long way off in another direction.
The gas was turned low. It threw a pale illumination on the bed, and
gleamed on a curve of mahogany here and there in the distances.

Edwin looked at his father, to be sure that all was in order, that
nothing had been forgotten. The body seemed monstrous and shapeless
beneath the thickly piled clothes; and from the edge of the eider-down,
making a valley in the pillow, the bearded face projected, in a manner
grotesque and ridiculous. A clock struck seven in another part of the
house.

"What time's that?" Darius murmured.

"Seven," said Edwin, standing close to him.

Darius raised himself slowly and clumsily on one elbow.

"Here! But look here!" Edwin protested. "I've just fixed you up--"

The old man