side a small table which
held medicines and the night-lamp. This man rose as his successor
entered, and, at the door, a word or two was spoken between them. Ivan
caught the phrase: "No change." Then he halted beside the iron bed and
stood looking down on the motionless form of Joseph.

Joseph!--Joseph Kashkarin, this bearded, hollow-eyed, gray-lipped man,
with the spots of scarlet flaming from his projecting cheekbones, and
throwing the death-hue of the rest of the face into still more dreadful
prominence? Joseph's, that clawlike hand, with the broken, stained and
shapeless nails, which once had wielded a brush that created the
laughing face of Irina Petrovna--the woman who had brought him down to
death? A great shudder seized upon Ivan; and, for an instant, he was
forced to turn away. Then the nurse brought him a chair; and he removed
his coat and hat and seated himself beside the cot, his face resolutely
straightened into an expressionless gravity. As he watched, the nurse
administered a hypodermic of strychnia, and then bathed the burning face
and hands with cool water. The task completed, the man turned to Ivan,
saying, nonchalantly:

"The stimulant may pull him up, sir, for fifteen minutes, if you wish to
speak to him. But he's failing. He'll hardly linger to see the sun."

In spite of himself Ivan betrayed something of the thrill that shot
through him at these words. Till now he had scarcely realized that he
was actually to watch a man start upon that dread passage which
leads--none knoweth whither. He sat wrapped in solemn thought until,
presently, the form beneath the blankets stirred, and Joseph began to
cough:--a cough that shook and racked his emaciated frame as if it would
tear flesh from bone. The nurse hurried to his side. But it was five
minutes before the fit had ceased and the sick man, raised high upon his
pillows, regained his breath and the strength to open his glittering
eyes, which fell at once upon Ivan. For a moment they stared, dazedly.
Then a distorted smile softened the line of the pallid lips:

"_You!_--Then they did send--and you _came_! I'm not dreaming?" He spoke
in a whisper, as if to himself; but the words were distinct.

"No, Joseph, I am here.--Joseph, why did you wait?--Why did you not come
to me, years ago?--I hunted so long! I never dreamed of leaving you
longer than for that one night. I have prayed that--" He broke off,
suddenly, remembering that excitement might bring on the