He felt up and down the seam of the quilt feebly with his fingers, then closed his eyes again in unconsciousness.
All day the dread phantom hands seemed to hover closer to that quivering thread of life, until sometimes we almost thought it broken; but at nightfall they receded, and the shred strengthened. There was a change for the better, and Boydell fell into soft, natural slumber.
Several days after this it occurred to me that if Boydell had relatives in Canada who were well off, they ought to help him in his time of need. Without making him or any one else acquainted with my intention, I wrote a letter setting forth Boydell’s illness and utterly destitute condition among strangers. As they held no communication with Boydell, they would hardly be willing to send him the money. I was unknown, and to assure them it was no imposition, I wrote if they wished to send any assistance, direct “To the Pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, M——, Illinois.”
About a week later that minister came to me and showed a letter post-marked S——, which contained a check for three hundred dollars. It specified that the money was to be given to Boydell only on condition that he would promise to renounce the stage forever, and so soon as he was able to travel, come home to his relatives. I felt delighted at the success of my plan, for of course he would accept the money, and whether he fulfilled his promise afterwards by renouncing the stage and going home to Canada, which would be extremely doubtful, I considered was no business of mine.
When we entered his room, Boydell was propped up almost in a sitting posture by pillows. The window-shutter had been thrown partly open to admit the air, and a narrow streak of sunlight fell across the bed. We told him of the good news, and after we had made him understand how it had all come about, read the letter aloud. He listened in perfect silence, without changing position, and when it was finished, took the check and said,—
“Three hundred dollars?”
“Yes,” we said, “it is three hundred dollars.”
He held the slip of paper in his emaciated hands, that trembled with weakness, and repeated,—
“Three hundred dollars—”
He seemed trying to convince himself of its reality; but suddenly a bewildered expression broke over his face, and he looked from the check to the letter, which still laid open. We asked Boydell if he wished to hear it again, but at the second reading his bewilderment only seemed to increase. He looked at us with an inquiring gaze that wandered round the bare, desolate room, and settled on the strip of blue sky in the window. Then he said, as if asking himself the question,—