"Perhaps," faltered Lebeau. "Did you wish to sleep?" inquired Levet, when the young people had left the room. "No, but I could not die before them. There is no use in saddening their young lives." The surgeon did not attempt to deny the danger. "You are a brave man, comrade," he said; "and since you are able to look death in the eye, do you not wish to make some preparation? There is a Catholic priest here in the house. Although Dr. Johnson is no friend to the papists, he has given this man the protection and shelter of his roof. If you desire to see him I--" But Lebeau made a negative sign, while by some singular reaction the sceptic and philosopher again took possession of his expiring body. "Read to me," he said, "the ode of Horace--to Posthumus." "Horace's ode to Posthumus!" repeated Levet, scarcely believing that he had heard aright. But he had made no mistake. It was Lebeau's wish that the Horatian ode should be read to him instead of the prayers for the dying. The aged surgeon arose and passed into an adjoining apartment, which contained Dr. Johnson's library. Soon he returned with a large book in his hand, and seated himself at the bedside. In a slow, impressive voice he began to read the famous ode, which the dying man accompanied in a low murmur, punctuating the familiar verses as though he were giving the responses to a psalm. "'_Visendus ater flumine languido_,'" Levet read. "'_Cocytus errans_,'" continued Lebeau faintly. But when Levet pronounced the fatal words, which typify "the end-all here," _Linguenda tellus_, he perceived that no response came from the bed. Quickly he bent above the poor pagan, and placed his hand upon his heart; finding no answering throb there, with reverent fingers he closed the eyes of the dead. * * * * *