"I will, sir."
"And hurry to let me know."
Barnwell withdrew, and Kanoffskie bowed his head upon the table before him, repeating a simple prayer of the Greek Church which he had not quite forgotten.
The young man made haste to Batavsky's cell, but there the old exile, dead, with his eyes staring wide and glassy.
He had died alone, without a friendly hand to close his eyes with a prayer.
In truth, his death at any moment was not unexpected by Barnwell, but coming as it did at the very moment of Kanoffskie's dream, made it seem more strange and horrible.
Indeed, there seemed to be something horribly supernatural about it.
He stood for a moment gazing upon the rigid features of the poor old man, hardly daring to return and tell Kanoffskie of his death.
"But it serves him right," he thought; and covering the dead man's face with a blanket, he returned to the surgeon's office.
"Well?" he asked, with quick anxiety.