"
He turned on his heel, and left the room without another word, still
with his head bent down, as if in thought. I gazed after him till the
door shut softly. Then I looked round at Guy. His head had fallen back,
and the features looked so drawn and changed that I cried out, thinking
he was dead. It was only a long, long swoon.
Just another scene, and my tale is told.
I was reading in Guy's room one evening. He had not spoken for some
time, and I fancied he was asleep. Suddenly he called to me,
"Frank, come here--nearer. I have several things to say to you, and I
feel I must make haste. No, don't call any one. I said farewell to my
mother yesterday, and we must spare her all we can."
In the presence of that sublime self-command, I _dared_ not betray my
grief by any outward sign. I knelt down by his side silently.
He went on in a voice that, though hollow and often interrupted by
failing breath, was perfectly measured and steady.
"You can only be glad that the end has come at last, though it is well I
have had time to prepare myself. Am I ready now? I can not tell. Foster
says I ought to hope. I trust it is not wicked to say I do not _fear_. I
have sinned often and deeply; but He who will judge me created me, and
He knows, too, how much I have suffered.
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