By-and-by he aroused and wrote more letters. He went on thus until it was quite dark, when he told me he had finished, adding that he believed he now could sleep well, for a great weight was off his mind.
Before he closed his eyes I begged him to tell me if there was anything I could do for him, any wish that I could gratify. Would he have bovril? whisky? tea? He thanked me; he said he had no desire for anything, that he would sleep; but suddenly opening his eyes, looking at me excitedly, he said, "Bertie, you will not laugh at me, you will not think I'm off my head, will you, but if you'd just read me that beautiful hymn of Cowper's—"There is a fountain," you know? I remember it was a great favourite of Prince Albert's, and I like it too. Read it for me, Bertie, and then I think I'll sleep well."
I read it—I broke down several times—but as I finished the last line I saw he was sleeping calmly.
I was fagged out myself—I had hardly eaten a scrap that day—I don't think I had slept an hour for days: so when I saw he was sleeping I too lay back and was soon unconscious, and had forgotten all our troubles.
Before closing my eyes though, I took a good look at my friend. I could not help remarking how great a change there was in him. His face was so drawn, so withered; there was no trace of colour on it, even his lips were white.
I had never seen a human being die. I had never seen a dead person up to that time, and yet there was that appearance to my companion; something had come over him which profoundly affected me, and I kept saying to myself, "He will die, he will die." I was whispering this when I fell asleep, and forgot all my grief and misery.
How long I slept I do not know. It was still dark when I awoke. I had extinguished the light before I went to sleep. It was very cold, the fire was nearly out. This being an all-important affair I jumped up, stirred the embers together and blew them into a flame. Then I piled on more wood, and made quite a noise in doing it.
I feared I had awakened Meade and perhaps alarmed him. I called gently to him. There was no reply. I concluded that he still slept, therefore I crouched by the now blazing fire, warming myself.
Just then Patch came quietly up to me and laid his head on my arm. I looked down and patted him.
Really and truly there was a most pitiful look in the poor dog's eyes. He saw that I noticed this, and to my horror and dismay he suddenly lifted up his head and gave one most vehemently long-drawn, heartrending howl!