Now this, now that, out of the long past was with him; persons and things all trivial. He spoke twice of an order—then he would bid a clerk write something ... to whom? He forgot the name ... he forgot the name. He complained of his memory; then he sighed a little, and was still. In a moment he turned, and began his muttering again. To many friends, long dead, he spoke of the key and of his honour, and of ... of ... he sought for a name that would fit at once a traitor and a lost friend, something evil in the world;—some spirit or other. Perhaps a son. The effort strained him; he groaned again and was silent. One fixed and harassing perplexity recurred. There was something being done against his will at home; some quarrel of judgment: the children surely—or was it a servant? His wife was there by the bedside, renewing some ancient domestic difference: ... but there! he was willing to yield. Anything, anything to cool the press of fever that was gaining upon the turmoil within him: yet he wished her nearer to him and understanding more, for he was very ill; and he kept on whispering: “As you will, my dear, as you will.” Then, almost aloud: “Don’t go! ... don’t go without settling it, my heart!” But she was gone. Mr Burden opened his eyes: he knew that he was awake: he saw the ceiling plainly, and the stucco pattern of it, above the dull light of the falling fire. His wife, the real picture of her, rushed into his mind; he knew that she had gone that very moment, shutting the door and leaving him. He could not move, for something had snapped, and all was changing; he felt himself utterly alone. Loneliness caught him suddenly, overwhelming him; wave upon wave of increasing vastness, the boundaries leaping, more and more remote, immeasurably outwards with every slackening pulse at the temples. Then it was dark; and the Infinite wherein he sank was filled with that primeval Fear which has no name among living men: for the moment of his passage had come. _Sanctus Fortis, Sanctus Deus, De profundis oro Te. Miserere, Judex Meus, Mortis in discrimine._ Mr Burden’s head jerked a little to the right, his jaw fell, his hands twitched and grew rigid. Mr Burden was dead. * * * * * The dirty light grew in the east of the world, and lit without hope the labour and despair of the city; the masts and spars of the ships a long way off in the docks showed delicate and true. There was a little streak of murky rose which faded, and, without, one cameo noise and then another led on to the life of a new day. A bird among the black branches of the ruined smoky trees, a footfall in the road outside; a few more moments and the sound of wheels. It was Cosmo coming home.