Mr. St. John pushed him in, and closed the door upon them. Henry held out his hand, and spoke a few hearty words of love and forgiveness; and Lewis put his face down on the counterpane and began to howl. "Lewis, take comfort. It was done, I know, in the impulse of the moment, and you never thought it would hurt me seriously. I freely forgive you." "Are you sure to die?" sobbed Lewis. "I think I am. The doctors say so." "O-o-o-o-o-o-h!" howled Lewis; "then I know you'll come back and haunt me with being your murderer: Prattleton junior says you will. He saw it done, so he knows about it. I shall never be able to sleep at night, for fear." "Now, Lewis, don't be foolish. I shall be too happy where I am, to come back to earth. No one knows how it happened: you say Prattleton does, but he is your friend, and it is safe with him. Take comfort." "Some of us have been so wicked and malicious to you!" blubbered Lewis. "I, and my brother, and Aultane, and a lot of them." "It is all over now," sighed Henry, closing his heavy eyes. "You would not, had you foreseen that I should leave you so soon." "Oh, what a horrid wretch I have been!" sobbed Lewis, rubbing his smeared face on the white bedclothes, in an agony. "And, if it's found out, they might try me next assizes and hang me. And it is such a dreadful thing for you to die!" "It is a _happy_ thing, Lewis; I feel it is, and I have told the dean I feel it. Say good-bye to the fellows for me, Lewis; I am too ill to see them. Tell them how sorry I am to leave them; but we shall meet again in heaven." Lewis grasped his offered hand, and, with a hasty, sheepish movement, leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek: then turned and burst out of the room, nearly upsetting Mr. St. John, and tore down the stairs. Mr. St. John entered the chamber. "Well, is the conference satisfactorily over?" Again Henry reopened his heavy eyes. "Is that you, Mr. St. John?" "Yes, I am here." "The dean is coming here this evening at seven, for the sacrament. He said my not being confirmed was no matter in a case like this. Will you come?" "Henry, no," was the grave answer. "I am not good enough." "Oh, Mr. St. John!" The ready tears filled his eyes. "I wish you could!" he beseechingly whispered. "I wish so too. Are you distressed for me, Henry? Do not look upon me as a monster of iniquity: I did not mean to imply it. But I do not yet think sufficiently of serious things to be justified in partaking of that ordinance without preparation." "It would have seemed like a bond of union between us--a promise that you will some time join me where I am going," pleaded the dying boy. "I hope I shall: I trust I shall: I will not forget that you are there." As Mr. St. John left the house, he made his way to the grounds, in a reflective mood: the cathedral bell was then ringing for afternoon service, and, somewhat to his surprise, he saw the dean hurrying from the college; not to it.