he one with whom I had the most
frequently come into contact wherever the physician resigns to the
priest the language that bids man hope. Mr. C-----, as a preacher,
was renowned for his touching eloquence; as a pastor, revered for his
benignant piety; as friend and neighbour, beloved for a sweetness of
nature which seemed to regulate all the movements of a mind eminently
masculine by the beat of a heart tender as the gentlest woman's.

This good man; then whispering something to the sufferer which I did
not overhear, stole towards me, took me by the hand, and said, also in
a whisper, "Be merciful as Christians are." He led me to the bedside,
there left me, went out, and closed the door.

"Do you think I am really dying, Dr. Fenwick?" said a feeble voice. "I
fear Dr. Jones has misunderstood my case. I wish I had called you in at
the first, but--but I could not--I could not! Will you feel my pulse?
Don't you think you could do me good?"

I had no need to feel the pulse in that skeleton wrist; the aspect of
the face sufficed to tell me that death was drawing near.

Mechanically, however, I went through the hackneyed formulae of
professional questions. This vain ceremony done, as gently and
delicately as I could, I implied the expediency of concluding, if not
yet settled, those affairs which relate to this world.

"This duty," I said, "in relieving the mind from care for others to whom
we owe the forethought of affection, often relieves the body also
of many a gnawing pain, and sometimes, to the surprise of the most
experienced physician, prolongs life itself."

"Ah," said the old maid, peevishly, "I understand! But it is not my will
that troubles me. I should not be left to a nurse from a hospital if my
relations did not know that my annuity dies with me; and I forestalled
it in furnishing this house, Dr. Fenwick, and all these pretty things
will be sold to pay those horrid tradesmen!--very hard!--so hard!--just
as I got things about me in the way I always said I would have them if
I could ever afford it! I always said I would have my bedroom hung
with muslin, like dear Lady L----'s; and the drawing-room in
geranium-coloured silk: so pretty. You have not seen it: you would not
know the house, Dr. Fenwick. And just when all is finished, to be taken
away and thrust into the grave. It is so cruel!" And she began to weep.
Her emotion brought on a violent paroxysm, which, when she recovered
from it, had produced one of t