foundithadcaughthiseye。
“GoodLord！”Icried；“isTHATstillgoingon！”
Thatnightthelittleclergymanwatched，andinthesmallhoursheraisedafalsealarmthatmyunclewasdying，andmadeanextraordinaryfuss。Heraisedthehouse。Ishallneverforgetthatscene，Ithink，whichbeganwithatappingatmybedroomdoorjustafterIhadfallenasleep，andhisvoice——
“Ifyouwanttoseeyourunclebeforehegoes，youmustcomenow。”
ThestuffylittleroomwascrowdedwhenIreachedit，andlitbythreeflickeringcandles。IfeltIwasbackintheeighteenthcentury。Therelaymypooruncleamidstindescribablytumbledbedclothes，wearyoflifebeyondmeasure，wearyandrambling，andthelittleclergymantryingtoholdhishandandhisattention，andrepeatingoverandoveragain：
“Mr。Ponderevo，Mr。Ponderevo，itisallright。Itisallright。
OnlyBelieve！’Believeonme，andyeshallbesaved’！”
Closeathandwasthedoctorwithoneofthosecruelandidioticinjectionneedlesmodernscienceputsinthehandsofthesehalf-educatedyoungmen，keepingmyuncleflickeringlyalivefornoreasonwhatever。Thereligieusehoveredsleepilyinthebackgroundwithanoverdueandneglecteddose。Inaddition，thelandladyhadnotonlygotupherself，butrousedanagedcroneofamotherandapartiallyimbecilehusband，andtherewasalsoafattish，stolidmaningreyalpaca，withanairofimportance——whohewasandhowhegotthere，Idon’tknow。I
ratherfancythedoctorexplainedhimtomeinFrenchIdidnotunderstand。Andtheywereallthere，wearilynocturnal，hastilyandcarelesslydressed，intentuponthelifethatflickeredandsank，makingapublicandcuriousshowofitsgoing，queershapesofhumanbeingslitbythreeuncertaincandles，andeverysoulofthemkeenlyandavidlyresolvedtobeinatthedeath。Thedoctorstood，theotherswereallsittingonchairsthelandladyhadbroughtinandarrangedforthem。
Andmyunclespoilttheclimax，anddidnotdie。
Ireplacedthelittleclergymanonthechairbythebedside，andhehoveredabouttheroom。
“Ithink。”hewhisperedtomemysteriously，ashegaveplacetome，“Ibelieve——itiswellwithhim。”
IheardhimtryingtorenderthestockphrasesofLowChurchpietyintoFrenchforthebenefitofthestolidmaningreyalpaca。Thenheknockedaglassoffthetable，andscrabbledforthefragments。FromthefirstIdoubtedthetheoryofanimmediatedeath。Iconsultedthedoctorinurgentwhispers。I
turnedroundtogetchampagne，andnearlyfellovertheclergyman’slegs。HewasonhiskneesattheadditionalchairtheBasquelandladyhadgotonmyarrival，andhewasprayingaloud，“Oh，HeavenlyFather，havemercyonthisthyChild。”I
hustledhimupandoutoftheway，andinanotherminutehewasdownatanotherchairprayingagain，andbarringthepathofthereligieuse，whohadfoundmethecorkscrew。SomethingputintomyheadthattremendousblasphemyofCarlyle’sabout“thelastmewofadrowningkitten。”Hefoundathirdchairvacantpresently；itwasasifhewasplayingagame。
“GoodHeavens！”Isaid，“wemustclearthesepeopleout。”andwithacertainurgencyIdid。
Ihadatemporarylapseofmemory，andforgotallmyFrench。I
drovethemoutmainlybygesture，andopenedthewindow，totheuniversalhorror。Iintimatedthedeathscenewaspostponed，and，asamatteroffact，myuncledidnotdieuntilthenextnight。
Ididnotletthelittleclergymancomenearhimagain，andIwaswatchfulforanysignthathismindhadbeentroubled。Buthemadenone。Hetalkedonceabout“thatparsonchap。”
“Didn’tbotheryou？”Iasked。
“Wantedsomething。”hesaid。
Ikeptsilence，listeningkeenlytohismutterings。I
understoodhimtosay，“Theywantedtoomuch。”Hisfacepuckeredlikeachild’sgoingtocry。“Youcan’tgetasafesixpercent……”hesaid。Ihadforamomentawildsuspicionthatthoseurgenttalkshadnotbeenaltogetherspiritual，butthat，I
think，wasaquiteunworthyandunjustsuspicion。Thelittleclergymanwasassimpleandhonestastheday。Myunclewassimplygeneralisingabouthisclass。
Butitmayhavebeenthesetalksthatsetloosesomelongdormantstringofideasinmyuncle’sbrain，ideasthethingsofthisworldhadlongsuppressedandhiddenaltogether。Neartheendhesuddenlybecameclearmindedandlucid，albeitveryweak，andhisvoicewaslittle，butclear。
“George。”hesaid。
“I’mhere。”Isaid，“closebesideyou。”
“George。Youhavealwaysbeenresponsibleforthescience。
George。YouknowbetterthanIdo。Is——Isitproved？”
“Whatproved？”
“Eitherway？”
“Idon’tunderstand。”
“Deathendsall。Aftersomuch——Suchsplendidbeginnin’s。
Somewhere。Something。”
Istaredathimamazed。Hissunkeneyeswereverygrave。
“Whatdoyouexpect？”Isaidinwonder。
Hewouldnotanswer。“Aspirations。”hewhispered。Hefellintoabrokenmonologue，regardlessofme。“Trailingcloudsofglory。”
hesaid，and“first-ratepoet，first-rate。Georgewasalwayshard。Always。”
Foralongtimetherewassilence。
Thenhemadeagesturethathewishedtospeak。
“Seemstome，George“
Ibentmyheaddown，andhetriedtolifthishandtomyshoulder。Iraisedhimalittleonhispillows，andlistened。
“Itseemstome，George，always——theremustbesomethinginme——thatwon’tdie。”
Helookedatmeasthoughthedecisionrestedwithme。
“Ithink。”hesaid；“——something。”
Then，foramoment，hismindwandered。“Justalittlelink。”hewhisperedalmostpleadingly，andlayquitestill，butpresentlyhewasuneasyagain。
“Someotherworld“
“Perhaps。”Isaid。“Whoknows？”
“Someotherworld。”
“Notthesamescopeforenterprise。”Isaid。
“No。”
Hebecamesilent。Isatleaningdowntohim，andfollowingoutmyownthoughts，andpresentlythereligieuseresumedherperiodicconflictwiththewindowfastening。Foratimehestruggledforbreath。Itseemedsuchnonsensethatheshouldhavetosufferso——poorsillylittleman！
“George。”hewhispered，andhisweaklittlehandcameout。
“PERHAPS——“
Hesaidnomore，butIperceivedfromtheexpressionofhiseyesthathethoughtthequestionhadbeenput。
“Yes，Ithinkso；“Isaidstoutly。
“Aren’tyousure？”
“Oh——practicallysure。”saidI，andIthinkhetriedtosqueezemyhand。AndthereIsat，holdinghishandtight，andtryingtothinkwhatseedsofimmortalitycouldbefoundinallhisbeing，whatsortofghosttherewasinhimtowanderoutintothebleakimmensities。Queerfanciescametome。Helaystillforalongtime，saveforabriefstruggleorsoforbreathandeverandagainIwipedhismouthandlips。
Ifellintoapitofthought。Ididnotremarkatfirstthechangethatwascreepingoverhisface。Helaybackonhispillow，madeafaintzzzingsoundthatceased，andpresentlyandquitequietlyhedied——greatlycomfortedbymyassurance。Idonotknowwhenhedied。Hishandrelaxedinsensibly。Suddenly，withastart，withashock，Ifoundthathismouthhadfallenopen，andthathewasdead。