"Serious disease to overcome, and only scant vital forces; no reasonable ground for hope."
Sir Tom gave me a smile as I entered the room after parting from the specialist.
"I've discounted the verdict," said he, "and the foreman needn't draw such a long face. I've had my fling, like a true Irishman, and I'm ready to pay the bill. I won't have to come back for anything, Williams; there's nothing due me; but I must look sharp for William and the old girl in the kitchen,—faithful souls,—for they will be strangers in a strange land. Will you send for a lawyer?"
The lawyer came, and a codicil to Sir Thomas's will made the servants comfortable for life. All that day and the following night we hung around the sick bed, hoping for the favorable change that never came. On the morning of the 17th it was evident that he would not live to see the sun go down. We had kept all friends away from the sick chamber; but now, at his request, Polly, Jane, and Laura were summoned, and they came, with blanched faces and tearful eyes, to kiss the brow and hold the hands of this dear man. He smiled with contentment on the group, and said:—
"Me friends have made such a heaven of this earth that perhaps I have had me full share."
"Sir Tom," said I, "shall I send for a priest?"
"A priest! What could I do with a priest? Me forebears were on the Orange side of Boyne Water, and we have never changed color."
"Would you like to see a clergyman?"
"No, no; just the grip of a friend's hand and these angels around me. Asking pardon is not me long suit, Williams, but perhaps the time has come for me to play it. If the good God will be kind to me I will thank Him, as a gentleman should, and I will take no advantage of His kindness; but if He cannot see His way clear to do that, I will take what is coming."
"Dear Sir Tom," said Jane, with streaming eyes, "God cannot be hard with you, who have been so good to every one."