He said something which I could not catch; his voice sounded strangely weak and broken, and I was obliged to ask him to repeat it.
“No! oh no! I said your hands were better than any ice.”
“They put you in mind of that sister, is that it? Well, shut your eyes now, and try to fancy, just for a little while, that they are really hers, and that she is standing in my place, where I know she would so long to be.”
“That sister,” he said, quietly and gently, “whom I shall never see on this earth again.”
This was the first time that he had so spoken; always before he had alluded to being better—to getting home—to writing himself to her; but now it seemed he felt and realized his state.
These were the last words I ever heard poor Darlington speak, for I never saw him again. My week at the hospital was over; I was obliged to leave home for a short time, and when I returned he was at peace, and calmly laid to rest.
“Out of the darkness, into the light:
No more sickness, no more sighing;
No more suffering, self-denying;
No more weakness, no more pain;