y his eyes glittered as they stared up at Ishmael from between his
thickly veined lids.

"You wanted to see me," said Ishmael. His voice was expressionless, but
not from any hard feeling on his part. It seemed to him as he sat there
that nothing as vigorous as animosity could be left alive between
them--both old, both frail, both drawing near to sleep. And yet, as
their eyes stared into each other's, some tremor of the old distaste
still seemed to communicate itself....

Archelaus began to speak, very slowly, very low, so that Ishmael had to
stoop forward to hear, but each word was distinct, and evidently with
that extraordinary clarity that comes sometimes to the dying, even to
those whose brains have been troubled, the old man knew what he was
saying.

"I want to tell 'ee," said Archelaus. Ishmael stayed bent forward,
attentive.

"What do 'ee suppose I came back for?" asked Archelaus--and this time
there was definite malice in voice and look; "because I loved 'ee so?"

"No, I never thought that. I wondered rather ... and I thought it was
just that--" he broke off. Archelaus finished the sentence for him.

"That I was old and wandering in my wits, and came home as a dog does?
No; it wasn't that. I came home to tell 'ee something--something I've
hid in my heart for years past, something that'll make I laugh if I find
myself in hell!"

Ishmael waited in silence. When he again began to speak it was as though
Archelaus were wandering away from the point which he had in mind.

"You've set a deal of store by Cloom, haven't you, Ishmael?" he asked.

Ishmael nodded. Archelaus went on:

"Not just for Cloom, is it? To hand it on better'n you got it--to have
your own flesh and blood to give it to? To a man as is a man it wouldn't
be so much after all wi'out that?"

Again Ishmael assented. Again Archelaus went on without any fumbling
after words, as though all his life he had known what he was going to
say at this moment. He lifted his hand and began fumbling at the neck of
his nightshirt. Ishmael guessed what he was wanting, for when he had
been undressed they had found a little flat oilskin bag slung around his
neck which they had left there. Now he bent forward, and, loosening the
shirt, lifted out the bag. In obedience to a nod from Archelaus, he took
out his knife and, cutting the dark, greasy string that looked as though
it had rested there for years, slipped the bag from off it. Then, still
in obedience to Arch