foundithadcaughthiseye。
　　“GoodLord！”Icried；“isTHATstillgoingon！”
　　Thatnightthelittleclergymanwatched，andinthesmallhoursheraisedafalsealarmthatmyunclewasdying，andmadeanextraordinaryfuss。Heraisedthehouse。Ishallneverforgetthatscene，Ithink，whichbeganwithatappingatmybedroomdoorjustafterIhadfallenasleep，andhisvoice——
　　“Ifyouwanttoseeyourunclebeforehegoes，youmustcomenow。”
　　ThestuffylittleroomwascrowdedwhenIreachedit，andlitbythreeflickeringcandles。IfeltIwasbackintheeighteenthcentury。Therelaymypooruncleamidstindescribablytumbledbedclothes，wearyoflifebeyondmeasure，wearyandrambling，andthelittleclergymantryingtoholdhishandandhisattention，andrepeatingoverandoveragain：
　　“Mr。Ponderevo，Mr。Ponderevo，itisallright。Itisallright。
　　OnlyBelieve！’Believeonme，andyeshallbesaved’！”
　　Closeathandwasthedoctorwithoneofthosecruelandidioticinjectionneedlesmodernscienceputsinthehandsofthesehalf-educatedyoungmen，keepingmyuncleflickeringlyalivefornoreasonwhatever。Thereligieusehoveredsleepilyinthebackgroundwithanoverdueandneglecteddose。Inaddition，thelandladyhadnotonlygotupherself，butrousedanagedcroneofamotherandapartiallyimbecilehusband，andtherewasalsoafattish，stolidmaningreyalpaca，withanairofimportance——whohewasandhowhegotthere，Idon’tknow。I
　　ratherfancythedoctorexplainedhimtomeinFrenchIdidnotunderstand。Andtheywereallthere，wearilynocturnal，hastilyandcarelesslydressed，intentuponthelifethatflickeredandsank，makingapublicandcuriousshowofitsgoing，queershapesofhumanbeingslitbythreeuncertaincandles，andeverysoulofthemkeenlyandavidlyresolvedtobeinatthedeath。Thedoctorstood，theotherswereallsittingonchairsthelandladyhadbroughtinandarrangedforthem。
　　Andmyunclespoilttheclimax，anddidnotdie。
　　Ireplacedthelittleclergymanonthechairbythebedside，andhehoveredabouttheroom。
　　“Ithink。”hewhisperedtomemysteriously，ashegaveplacetome，“Ibelieve——itiswellwithhim。”
　　IheardhimtryingtorenderthestockphrasesofLowChurchpietyintoFrenchforthebenefitofthestolidmaningreyalpaca。Thenheknockedaglassoffthetable，andscrabbledforthefragments。FromthefirstIdoubtedthetheoryofanimmediatedeath。Iconsultedthedoctorinurgentwhispers。I
　　turnedroundtogetchampagne，andnearlyfellovertheclergyman’slegs。HewasonhiskneesattheadditionalchairtheBasquelandladyhadgotonmyarrival，andhewasprayingaloud，“Oh，HeavenlyFather，havemercyonthisthyChild。”I
　　hustledhimupandoutoftheway，andinanotherminutehewasdownatanotherchairprayingagain，andbarringthepathofthereligieuse，whohadfoundmethecorkscrew。SomethingputintomyheadthattremendousblasphemyofCarlyle’sabout“thelastmewofadrowningkitten。”Hefoundathirdchairvacantpresently；itwasasifhewasplayingagame。
　　“GoodHeavens！”Isaid，“wemustclearthesepeopleout。”andwithacertainurgencyIdid。
　　Ihadatemporarylapseofmemory，andforgotallmyFrench。I
　　drovethemoutmainlybygesture，andopenedthewindow，totheuniversalhorror。Iintimatedthedeathscenewaspostponed，and，asamatteroffact，myuncledidnotdieuntilthenextnight。
　　Ididnotletthelittleclergymancomenearhimagain，andIwaswatchfulforanysignthathismindhadbeentroubled。Buthemadenone。Hetalkedonceabout“thatparsonchap。”
　　“Didn’tbotheryou？”Iasked。
　　“Wantedsomething。”hesaid。
　　Ikeptsilence，listeningkeenlytohismutterings。I
　　understoodhimtosay，“Theywantedtoomuch。”Hisfacepuckeredlikeachild’sgoingtocry。“Youcan’tgetasafesixpercent……”hesaid。Ihadforamomentawildsuspicionthatthoseurgenttalkshadnotbeenaltogetherspiritual，butthat，I
　　think，wasaquiteunworthyandunjustsuspicion。Thelittleclergymanwasassimpleandhonestastheday。Myunclewassimplygeneralisingabouthisclass。
　　Butitmayhavebeenthesetalksthatsetloosesomelongdormantstringofideasinmyuncle’sbrain，ideasthethingsofthisworldhadlongsuppressedandhiddenaltogether。Neartheendhesuddenlybecameclearmindedandlucid，albeitveryweak，andhisvoicewaslittle，butclear。
　　“George。”hesaid。
　　“I’mhere。”Isaid，“closebesideyou。”
　　“George。Youhavealwaysbeenresponsibleforthescience。
　　George。YouknowbetterthanIdo。Is——Isitproved？”
　　“Whatproved？”
　　“Eitherway？”
　　“Idon’tunderstand。”
　　“Deathendsall。Aftersomuch——Suchsplendidbeginnin’s。
　　Somewhere。Something。”
　　Istaredathimamazed。Hissunkeneyeswereverygrave。
　　“Whatdoyouexpect？”Isaidinwonder。
　　Hewouldnotanswer。“Aspirations。”hewhispered。Hefellintoabrokenmonologue，regardlessofme。“Trailingcloudsofglory。”
　　hesaid，and“first-ratepoet，first-rate。Georgewasalwayshard。Always。”
　　Foralongtimetherewassilence。
　　Thenhemadeagesturethathewishedtospeak。
　　“Seemstome，George“
　　Ibentmyheaddown，andhetriedtolifthishandtomyshoulder。Iraisedhimalittleonhispillows，andlistened。
　　“Itseemstome，George，always——theremustbesomethinginme——thatwon’tdie。”
　　Helookedatmeasthoughthedecisionrestedwithme。
　　“Ithink。”hesaid；“——something。”
　　Then，foramoment，hismindwandered。“Justalittlelink。”hewhisperedalmostpleadingly，andlayquitestill，butpresentlyhewasuneasyagain。
　　“Someotherworld“
　　“Perhaps。”Isaid。“Whoknows？”
　　“Someotherworld。”
　　“Notthesamescopeforenterprise。”Isaid。
　　“No。”
　　Hebecamesilent。Isatleaningdowntohim，andfollowingoutmyownthoughts，andpresentlythereligieuseresumedherperiodicconflictwiththewindowfastening。Foratimehestruggledforbreath。Itseemedsuchnonsensethatheshouldhavetosufferso——poorsillylittleman！
　　“George。”hewhispered，andhisweaklittlehandcameout。
　　“PERHAPS——“
　　Hesaidnomore，butIperceivedfromtheexpressionofhiseyesthathethoughtthequestionhadbeenput。
　　“Yes，Ithinkso；“Isaidstoutly。
　　“Aren’tyousure？”
　　“Oh——practicallysure。”saidI，andIthinkhetriedtosqueezemyhand。AndthereIsat，holdinghishandtight，andtryingtothinkwhatseedsofimmortalitycouldbefoundinallhisbeing，whatsortofghosttherewasinhimtowanderoutintothebleakimmensities。Queerfanciescametome。Helaystillforalongtime，saveforabriefstruggleorsoforbreathandeverandagainIwipedhismouthandlips。
　　Ifellintoapitofthought。Ididnotremarkatfirstthechangethatwascreepingoverhisface。Helaybackonhispillow，madeafaintzzzingsoundthatceased，andpresentlyandquitequietlyhedied——greatlycomfortedbymyassurance。Idonotknowwhenhedied。Hishandrelaxedinsensibly。Suddenly，withastart，withashock，Ifoundthathismouthhadfallenopen，andthathewasdead。