iews in
the course of the day was this--that he seemed to have a preoccupation
in his mind, though he had spoken cheerfully enough about various
matters. It did not seem either a fear or an anxiety. It was rather that
he knew that he might die, I now believe, and that he desired to live,
and was thinking about all the things he had to do and wished to do, and
that his trains of thought continually ended in the thought--"Perhaps I
may not live to do them." He wished too, I thought, to reassure himself,
and was pleased at feeling better, and at seeing that I thought him
better than I had expected. He was a sensitive patient, the doctor said,
and often suggested means of keeping up his strength. But he showed no
fear at any time, though he seemed like one who was facing a foe; like a
soldier in the trenches with an enemy opposite him whom he could not
quite discern.

However, I went off to bed, feeling suddenly very tired--I had been for
thirty-six hours almost without sleep, and it seemed to me as if whole
days had passed since I left Cambridge. My room was far away, a little
plain cell in a distant corridor high up. I slept a little; when
suddenly, through the glass window above my door, I saw the gleam of a
light, and became aware that someone was rapidly drawing near in the
corridor. In a moment Canon Sharrock tapped and entered. He said "Mr.
Benson, your brother is sinking fast--he has asked for you; he said, 'Is
my brother anywhere near at hand?' and when I said yes, that you were in
the house, he said, 'Thank God!' Do not lose any time; I will leave the
nurse on the stairs to light you." He went out, and I put on a few
things and went down the great dark arches of the staircase, with a
glimmering light below, and through the throne-room with the nurse. When
I came in I saw Hugh sitting up in bed; they had put a chair beside him,
covered with cushions, for him to lean against. He was pale and
breathing very fast, with the nurse sponging his brow. Canon Sharrock
was standing at the foot of the bed, with his stole on, reading the
last prayers from a little book. When I entered, Hugh fixed his eyes on
me with a strange smile, with something triumphant in it, and said in a
clear, natural voice, "Arthur, this is the end!" I knelt down near the
bed. He looked at me, and I knew somehow that we understood each other
well, that he wanted no word or demonstration, but was just glad I was
with him. The prayers began again. Hugh