Again I smiled and nodded. That he could speak of a morrow was tragic.
The end came at three a. m., July 31st, while it was still dark, and was quite painless. Conscious until the last, it is doubtful if until then Mr. Saltus realized that he was passing out of the body. Efforts to give him nitroglycerin were futile.
Grasping the tiny Rosicrucian cross he always wore about his neck, which symbolized all that he aspired to, he put his other hand in mine.
"Mowgy!" He could say no more. It was his last word, as, casting off the fetters of the flesh, he passed onward into the larger life, where "even the weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea."