I was terrified, for I thought I could descry the stamp of death already. There was a majestic calm, an unwonted stillness, upon the old man's face. I called Gordon at once; he evidently shared my fear, for he rushed away for a doctor. It was but a few minutes before he returned with the physician. The latter was not long in telling us the truth.
"It's simply a total collapse," he whispered to Gordon and me as we followed him out into the hall. "He can hardly live till the morning; yes, it's his heart—a case of syncope. Don't be alarmed if he grows delirious, or semi-delirious—they often do, just from sheer weakness. That roaming about the country, to-day, that you spoke of—and the excitement of it—have probably been too much for him."
"Shall we tell him?" asked Gordon, pale and trembling.
"Perhaps it would be just as well. Has he everything in order?—his will, I mean, and everything like that, you know?"
"That isn't important," said Gordon; "father had little to will—yet I think he ought to be told. But I cannot—I couldn't do it. Will you?"
The doctor nodded and turned slowly towards the room. We did not hear what he said, but a moment later grandfather faintly called for Gordon. We both went into the chamber of death.
"Rax me my wallet—you'll find it in the kist," said the old man, pointing towards a trunk in the corner of the room.
Gordon handed him a large leather case which a brief search revealed. The shaking hand fumbled a moment or two before it withdrew a somewhat bulky document. "This is what they gi'ed me for my hunnerd pounds," he said, a half-shamed smile coming over the strong features. "They ca'ed them stocks," he added, "stocks in a mine, ye ken. I got the shares for saxpence each—an' they said they was awfu' valuable—and I tuk a' they'd gie me for a hunnerd pounds." Then he named a certain mine in Northern Ontario, and I thought I saw the faintest smile on Gordon's face. He took the paper from his father's hand and laid it on the table.
"I made the shares ower to Helen, lang syne," the old man said humbly; "gin they turn oot to be worth onythin', they're for her. I didna' ken when I micht be ta'en awa'—an' it's aye weel to be ready."
I faltered some poor words of thanks which the sinking man did not seem to hear. A new, strange light came into his eyes as we waited beside his bed. The doctor had withdrawn now, powerless to do more.