altogether broken up. But toward evening he
briefly rallied, to maunder about many things, confounding in a sinister
jumble the memories of the past weeks and those of bygone years. "By the
way," he said suddenly, "I've made no will. I haven't much to bequeath.
Yet I have something." He had been playing listlessly with a large
signet-ring on his left hand, which he now tried to draw off. "I leave
you this"--working it round and round vainly--"if you can get it off.
What enormous knuckles! There must be such knuckles in the mummies of
the Pharaohs. Well, when I'm gone--! No, I leave you something more
precious than gold--the sense of a great kindness. But I've a little
gold left. Bring me those trinkets." I placed on the bed before him
several articles of jewellery, relics of early foppery: his watch
and chain, of great value, a locket and seal, some odds and ends
of goldsmith's work. He trifled with them feebly for some moments,
murmuring various names and dates associated with them. At last, looking
up with clearer interest, "What has become," he asked, "of Mr. Rawson?"

"You want to see him?"

"How much are these things worth?" he went on without heeding me. "How
much would they bring?" And he weighed them in his weak hands. "They're
pretty heavy. Some hundred or so? Oh I'm richer than I thought!
Rawson--Rawson--you want to get out of this awful England?"

I stepped to the door and requested the servant whom I kept in constant
attendance in our adjacent sitting-room to send and ascertain if Mr.
Rawson were on the premises. He returned in a few moments, introducing
our dismal friend. Mr. Rawson was pale even to his nose and derived from
his unaffectedly concerned state an air of some distinction. I led him
up to the bed. In Searle's eyes, as they fell on him, there shone for a
moment the light of a human message.

"Lord have mercy!" gasped Mr. Rawson.

"My friend," said Searle, "there's to be one American the less--so let
there be at the same time one the more. At the worst you'll be as good a
one as I. Foolish me! Take these battered relics; you can sell them; let
them help you on your way. They're gifts and mementoes, but this is a
better use. Heaven speed you! May America be kind to you. Be kind, at
the last, to your own country!"

"Really this is too much; I can't," the poor man protested, almost
scared and with tears in his eyes. "Do come round and get well and I'll
stop here. I'll stay with you and wait on