He, poor man, was inconsolable. Without his wife he seemed as one deprived of most of his limbs, and moved helplessly about, as though life were now without purpose. Accustomed to be ruled by her at every turn, he missed her in every action of the day. Very swiftly he sank, of no assigned complaint, and within six months was laid beside her. On his death-bed my uncle seemed strangely troubled about us. Tom was to be a doctor. My destiny was not so certain; but already I had renounced in my heart an inglorious life in Lizard Town. I longed to go with Tom; in London, too, I thought I should be free to follow the purpose of my life. But the question was, how should I find the money? For I knew that the sum obtained by the sale of Lantrig was miserably insufficient. So I sat with idle hands and waited for destiny; nor did I realise my helplessness until I stood in the room where Uncle Loveday lay dying. "Tom," said my uncle, "Tom, come closer." Tom bent over the bed. "I am leaving you two boys without friends in this world. You have friends in Lizard Town, but Lizard Town is a small world, Tom. I ought to have sent you to London before, but kept putting off the parting. If one could only foresee--could only foresee." He raised himself slightly on his elbow, and continued with pain-- "You will go to Guy's, and Jasper, I hope, may go with you. Be friends, boys; you will want friendship in this world. It will be a struggle, for there is barely enough for both. But it is best to share equally; _she_ would have wished that. She was always planning that. I am doing it badly, I know, but she would have done it better." The chill December sun came stealing in and illumined the sick man's face with a light that was the shadow of heaven. The strange doctor moved to the blind. My uncle's voice arrested him-- "No, no. Leave it up. You will have to pull it down very soon--only a few moments now. Tom, come closer. You have been a good boy, Tom, a good boy, though"--with a faint smile--"a little trying at times. Ah, but she forgave you, Tom. She loved you dearly; she will tell me so--when we meet." My uncle's gaze began to wander, as though anticipating that meeting; but he roused himself and said-- "Kiss me, Tom, and send Jasper to me." Bitterly weeping, Tom made room, and I bent over the bed. "Ah, Jasper, it is you. Kiss me, boy. I have been telling Tom that you must share alike. God has been stern with you, Jasper, to His own good ends--His own good ends. Only be patient, it will come right at the last. How dark it is getting; pull up the blind." "The blind is up, uncle." "Ah, yes, I forgot. I have often thought--do you remember that day-- reading your father's paper--and the key?" "Yes, uncle." "I have often thought--about that key--which you flung into the fire--and I picked out--your father Ezekiel's key--keep it. Closer, Jasper, closer--" I bent down until my ear almost touched his lips.