either
speech, nor feeling, nor hearing. He would be simply an empty shell.
It was awful!--inexpressibly awful. It all flashed through Sally's
mind in one shuddering instant; the next, she had pulled herself
together and crossed to the bedside on tip-toe, and stood looking down
at the poor, prostrate form with ineffable pity in her dark eyes.

"Oh, Lord! I can't bear it!" broke in a sort of wail from the blue
lips. "It can't last long; an hour or so will settle it."

The words Sally recognized as an exclamation rather than a prayer, but
they brought the rector to her remembrance. If any man could help
another in his last agony surely it would be he.

"Mr. Allison," she said, laying her soft hand on the grimy one that
moved up and down so restlessly upon the counterpane, "I heard you
wanted to see me. Let me do something. Is there no one else you would
like to see? Shall I fetch Mr. Curzon?"

Allison's eyes unclosed, dimmed already by the gathering haze of death.

"Bless you, missy; this ain't no place for you, though it's good of you
to come. Good-bye. God bless you! You get home again; it will hurt
you to see me suffer."

Once more that half-blind appeal to the Higher Power of which Mr.
Curzon had spoken, and he spoke with no uncertain sound. He seemed to
know about it.

"Won't the rector come?" asked Sally again.

But Allison shook his head.

"No, no; we'd words to-day. I can't mind what about; but it don't
matter much. I told 'un not to come."

But as he spoke a step fell on the stair, and the next moment Mr.
Curzon pushed open the door with an expression on his face so pitiful,
so strong, that in the tension of her feeling, Sally could only sob,
and, withdrawing her hand, slip quietly away to the window.

The rector knelt down, bringing his face to a level with the dying
man's.

"Allison, dear fellow, I only heard this minute what had happened; and
I came. Will you let me stay?"

"You can please yourself," said Allison; "but you can't want to be
here. We quarrelled, you and I."

"Not I," said the rector, gently.

"I'm mortal bad! I'm dying!" gasped the blacksmith. "It can't do no
good to watch me."

"You'll let me say a psalm or read a prayer."

"No. Where's the use? I wouldn't say 'em living and I can't listen
now I'm dying. I ain't no worse than others, and I'm better than some;
and what's to see on the other side, I'll learn soon enough for myself.
I'm nearly there."