on, because he was there only for a
time. Therefore he hated Augustus. But Augustus was his heir, and he
knew that he must die soon.

But for how long could he live? And what could he yet do before he died?
A braver man than Mr. Scarborough never lived,--that is, one who less
feared to die. Whether that is true courage may be a question, but it
was his, in conjunction with courage of another description. He did not
fear to die, nor did he fear to live. But what he did fear was to fail
before he died. Not to go out with the conviction that he was vanishing
amid the glory of success, was to him to be wretched at his last moment,
and to be wretched at his last moment, or to anticipate that he should
be so, was to him,--even so near his last hours,--the acme of misery. How
much of life was left to him, so that he might recover something of
success? Or was any moment left to him?

He could not sleep, so he rung his bell, and again sent for Mr. Merton.
"I have taken what you told me."

"So best," said Mr. Merton. For he did not always feel assured that this
strange patient would take what had been ordered.

"And I have tried to sleep."

"That will come after a while. You would not naturally sleep just after
the tonic."

"And I have been thinking of what you said about business. There is one
thing I must do, and then I can remain quiet for a fortnight, unless I
should be called upon to disturb my rest by dying."

"We will hope not."

"That may go as it pleases," said the sick man. "I want you now to write
a letter for me to Mr. Grey." Mr. Merton had undertaken to perform the
duties of secretary as well as doctor, and had thought in this way to
obtain some authority over his patient for the patient's own good; but
he had found already that no authority had come to him. He now sat down
at the table close to the bedside, and prepared to write in accordance
with Mr. Scarborough's dictation. "I think that Grey,--the lawyer, you
know,--is a good man."

"The world, as far as I hear it, says that he is honest."

"I don't care a straw what the world says. The world says that I am
dishonest, but I am not." Merton could only shrug his shoulders. "I
don't say that because I want you to change your opinion. I don't care
what you think. But I tell you a fact. I doubt whether Grey is so
absolutely honest as I am, but, as things go, he is a good man."

"Certainly."

"But the world, I suppose, says that my son Augustus is honest