He, however, said nothing definite, but administered an anodyne, and promised to come early, advising Clement to leave the night-watch to the nurse, as causing less excitement, and perhaps with a view likewise to the visible effects of a long course of anxious and disturbed nights.
But in the early light of May morning, Clement was standing by his brother's bed-side, saying in a low agitated voice, 'Felix, I think the end is coming. His mind is clear, and he wants to see you. I think we ought to have the Celebration. I hoped to have brought him to send for Jane—in fact, I have sent. You must judge if we ought to wait.'
Felix had less experience of the approach of death than the young clergyman, but the ashy sunken face and hollow breath assured him that there was no time to lose. The old man was sensible, and perfectly knew Felix, but was too much oppressed to speak much; only after a time he said, with an odd kind of smile, 'That boy Edward does more for me than ever my own, poor fellow—like his father—glad he has his place—he's not next to you?'
'Not if poor Edgar be living, sir.'
'Don't let a scamp come between him and the property,' gasped the old man; but Felix felt no need of answering.
'Wish my uncle had signed his will,' was the next murmur. 'Edward and Mary would have done better—maybe, my poor boy, too. Is Edward there? I say—you lads—never drive a son into the Church, whatever you do.'
It was a remote temptation, but there was an echo of repentance in the warning. No more was said till all had been made ready. Old Tripp had been sent for to make up the number; the household contained no Communicant. The dying man made each brother give him his hand, and said, 'Peace with all, isn't that it? You, both of you, Felix and Edward, I did use your father and mother as I ought not, though somehow I thought at the time I had the right, but I believe I have suffered for it all my life; and I ask your pardon as I would ask theirs.'
'Indeed you have it, as I know you had theirs,' Felix said. 'My brother knows as well as I, how no word like bitterness was ever allowed amongst us.'
'Did Edward forgive me at last?'
'Not at last,' said Felix; 'he had done it so much at first, that he never thought of it.'