Back to the window, with unsteady steps, to inhale another mouthful of fresh air—to take another look at the cold, cold winter stars.
Brighter burns the charcoal; the pale blue flame hovers there, in the center of the room like an infernal halo. And there is Death in the air.
Breathing in gasps, John tottered from the window again. He took the image in one hand, the candle in the other; and thus, on tip-toe, he approached the bed.
A very beautiful sight. Little John and little Annie sleeping side by side, a glow upon their cheeks,—Nelly and Annie sleeping hand joined in hand; their beautiful faces invested with a smile that was all quietness and peace. They did not murmur in their sleep this time.
John's eyes glared strangely as he stood gazing upon them. "And did you think, Annie," he said softly, putting his hand upon her head, "that I'd leave you in this world, to work and to slave, and to rear our children up to work and to slave, and eat the bitter bread of poverty? And you, Nelly, did you think I'd leave you to slave here, until your soul was sick; and then, some day, when work failed, and starvation looked in at the window, to sell yourself to some rich scoundrel for bread? No, wife—no, sister—no, children: I have gathered you up in my arms, and we're all going together!"
He kissed them one by one, and then tottered back toward the lighted furnace—toward his chair—the light which he held, shining fully over his withered face and flaming eyes. In one hand he still grasped the marble image. He had gained half the distance to his chair, when the door opened. A man of middle age, clad in sober black, his hair gray, and his hooked nose supporting gold spectacles, appeared on the threshold.
"Ah, Doctor, is that you?" cried John, "I thought it was the landlord;—you've come too late, Doctor, too late."
"Too late? What mean you, Mr. Martin?" said the doctor, advancing into the room—but starting back again, as he encountered the poisoned air.
"Too late—too late!" cried John, the candle trembling in his unsteady grasp, as he raised his skeleton-like form to its full height—"We're all cured,—"
"Cured? What mean you? How cured?"