d be a pity to tell my wife,
or anybody; in fact, I had rather not. You understand?"

He spoke thus in a matter-of-fact way, as if he thought the explanation
would satisfy me and prevent my asking further. He was mistaken.

"John, what is it?"

"What is it? Why, something like what I had then; but it comes rarely,
and I am well again directly. I had much rather not talk about it.
Pray forget it."

But I could not; nor, I thought, could he. He took up a book and sat
still; though often times I caught his eyes fixed on my face with a
peculiar earnestness, as if he would fain test my strength--fain find
out how much I loved him; and loving, how much I could bear.

"You are not reading, John; you are thinking--what about?"

He paused a little, as if undetermined whether or not to tell me; then
said: "About your father. Do you remember him?"

I looked surprised at the question.

"I mean, do you remember how he died?"

Somehow--though, God knows, not at that dear and sacred remembrance--I
shuddered. "Yes; but why should we talk of it now?"

"Why not? I have often thought what a happy death it was--painless,
instantaneous, without any wasting sickness beforehand--his sudden
passing from life present to life eternal. Phineas, your father's was
the happiest death I ever knew."

"It may be--I am not sure. John," for again something in his look and
manner struck me--"why do you say this to me?"

"I scarcely know. Yes, I do know."

"Tell me, then."

He looked at me across the table--steadily, eye to eye, as if he would
fain impart to my spirit the calmness that was in his own. "I believe,
Phineas, that when I die my death will be not unlike your father's."

Something came wildly to my lips about "impossibility," the utter
impossibility, of any man's thus settling the manner of his death, or
the time.

"I know that. I know that I may live ten or twenty years, and die of
another disease after all."

"Disease!"

"Nay--it is nothing to be afraid of. You see I am not afraid. I have
guessed it for many years. I have known it for a certainty ever since
I was in Paris."

"Were you ill in Paris?--You never said so."

"No--because--Phineas, do you think you could bear the truth? You know
it makes no real difference. I shall not die an hour sooner for being
aware of it."

"Aware of--what? Say quickly."

"Dr. K---- told me--I was determined to be told--that I had the disease
I suspected; beyond