"Pooh! pooh! you needn't read. Because if that book is true, why then I've made a bad investment of my life. I never deceived myself. I always looked upon this thing you call religion as a branch of trade—a cloak—a trap. But now I want you to tell me one thing, (and I've paid enough money to have a decent answer): Do you really believe that there is anything after this life? Speak, minister! Don't we go to sleep and rot,—and isn't that all?"
Herman did not answer.
But the voice of the boy Gulian, who was kneeling in the shadows of the death-chamber, broke through the stillness—
"There is something beyond the grave. There is a God! There is a heaven and a hell. There is a hope for the repentant, and there is a judgment for the impenitent." There was something almost supernatural in the tones of the boy's voice, breaking so slowly and distinctly upon the profound stillness.
The spectators started at the sound; and as for the dying man, he picked at his clothing and at the coverlet with his long fingers, now chilling fast with the cold of death—and muttered incoherent sounds, without sense or meaning of any kind.
"His face has a horrible look!" ejaculated the Colonel; who was half hidden among the curtains of the bed.
"He is going fast," said the Doctor, looking at his watch. "In five minutes all will be over,—"
"And you said, I believe, that he had not made his will?"
It was Herman who spoke. The sensation of remorse had been succeeded by his accustomed tone of feeling. His face was impressed with the profound selfishness which impelled his words. "He had better make his will. Without heirs, he can leave his fortune to the church,—"
"For shame! for shame!" cried the Doctor.