As he did not appear among us at his usual hour next morning, we
knocked gently at his door. No answer being given, it was softly
opened; and then, to our surprise, we saw him seated before the
ashes of his fire, with a little table I was accustomed to set at
his elbow when I left him for the night at a short distance from
him, as though he had pushed it away with the idea of rising and
retiring to his bed. His crutch and footstool lay at his feet as
usual, and he was dressed in his chamber-gown, which he had put on
before I left him. He was reclining in his chair, in his
accustomed posture, with his face towards the fire, and seemed
absorbed in meditation, - indeed, at first, we almost hoped he was.
Going up to him, we found him dead. I have often, very often, seen
him sleeping, and always peacefully, but I never saw him look so
calm and tranquil. His face wore a serene, benign expression,
which had impressed me very strongly when we last shook hands; not
that he had ever had any other look, God knows; but there was
something in this so very spiritual, so strangely and indefinably
allied to youth, although his head was gray and venerable, that it
was new even in him. It came upon me all at once when on some
slight pretence he called me back upon the previous night to take
me by the hand again, and once more say, 'God bless you.'
A bell-rope hung within his reach, but he had not moved towards it;
nor had he stirred, we all agreed, except, as I have said, to push
away his table, which he could have done, and no doubt did, with a
very slight motion of his hand.
Pages:
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168