XXV
It was after midnight; and at Mrs. Tilney's the household, at this hour usually plunged in slumber, had awakened to a hushed, subdued activity. Mr. Mapleson was dying.
It was about ten when Varick first had noted a change in him. For two hours Mr. Mapleson had lain among the pillows, his face passive, peaceful with a smile, and Varick had thought he slept. Then, as he looked up from the book he had brought to keep him company, he had seen Mr. Mapleson's eyelids flutter. His lips, too, moved as if he spoke.
"Anything I can get you?" asked Varick.
Mr. Mapleson did not appear to hear him. He seemed to be looking at something in the distance, and again his lips parted. Putting down his book, Varick bent over him.
"What is it, Mr. Mapleson?"
From a long way off came the little man's voice: "Keep step, John Mapleson. Keep step!"
Varick was puzzled. He laid a hand on Mr. Mapy's shoulder, and the little man quivered as if he had been struck.
"Mr. Mapleson!" said Varick. "What is it?"
The slight figure on the bed stirred restlessly.