"My time is very short, my breath is shorter," said the sick man,
supporting himself on one arm, and with the other groping in the
air, "and I remember there is something on my mind concerning the
man who was here just now, Father and William - wait! - is there
really anything in black, out there?"
"Yes, yes, it is real," said his aged father.
"Is it a man?"
"What I say myself, George," interposed his brother, bending kindly
over him. "It's Mr. Redlaw."
"I thought I had dreamed of him. Ask him to come here."
The Chemist, whiter than the dying man, appeared before him.
Obedient to the motion of his hand, he sat upon the bed.
"It has been so ripped up, to-night, sir," said the sick man,
laying his hand upon his heart, with a look in which the mute,
imploring agony of his condition was concentrated, "by the sight of
my poor old father, and the thought of all the trouble I have been
the cause of, and all the wrong and sorrow lying at my door, that -
"
Was it the extremity to which he had come, or was it the dawning of
another change, that made him stop?
" - that what I CAN do right, with my mind running on so much, so
fast, I'll try to do. There was another man here. Did you see
him?"
Redlaw could not reply by any word; for when he saw that fatal sign
he knew so well now, of the wandering hand upon the forehead, his
voice died at his lips.
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