But though the laboratory promptly supplied all the remedies needed in such a case, their application was vain. They gave relief, it is true: but they could not arrest the rapid advances which death was making upon the wretched old man.
“Jacob,” cried the doctor: “Jacob Smith, I say,” he repeated more impatiently, the lad not having heard his first summons; “hand me that bottle, and——”
“Jacob Smith!” cried Old Death, his moanings suddenly ceasing at the mention of that name: “is he here? Then let me tell him——My God! this burning sensation——Jacob—Jacob—my poor boy——Oh! my eyes—my eyes——doctor, do something to my eyes—they are like red hot coals in my head——Jacob—I—I—am your——father!”
“My father!” almost shrieked the lad, in the wildness of his amazement at these tidings: then, falling on his knees by the bed-side, he exclaimed, “Oh! if you are indeed my parent——”
“I am—I am, Jacob,” exclaimed the dying wretch: “but these tortures——why do they tear my flesh with pincers?—why do they put hot skewers into my eyes? Doctor—doctor——take away the red-hot iron——lift me out of the fire——take me away, I say—save me—save me—I am in flames—I am burning——My God! I am burning!”
“Father—father,” cried Jacob, in a tone of agonising appeal; “compose yourself—think of all your sins—repent——”
“Will no one snatch me from the fire?” yelled forth Old Death, writhing and tossing upon the bed in mortal pains: “perdition seize ye, wretches—I am burning—I am in flames—my eyes scorch me—my flesh is all seared over with red-hot irons——Oh! it is hell—it is hell! Yes—I am in hell——My God! this is my punishment! Oh! send me back to the world again—let me retrieve the past—let me live my existence once more—I will be good—I will not sin! No—no—for hell is terribly—terrible—and these fires——Oh! horror—horror—snakes of flame have seized upon me——they are gnawing at my heart—they have thrust their fiery stings into my eyes—they wind themselves round and round me—horror—horror—there—I feel them now—Oh! mercy—mercy——mercy——mer——”
“This is frightful!” whispered Tom Rain to Dr. Lascelles; and all the others present at the dreadful scene; shuddered from head to foot.
Jacob Smith buried his face in his hands and sobbed convulsively.
The dying man still continued to rave, and shriek, and yell for a short time longer: but his powers of articulation rapidly failed—his writhings grew less violent, until they ceased altogether,—and in a few minutes, the dark spirit which had never spared and never pitied human creature, fled for ever!