"He is waiting," said Rahab; "but not to bless." The people sang: "While the lamp holds out to burn the vilest sinner may return." Rahab raised himself up with difficulty and pitched forward upon the floor. "Rahab, what do you see?" asked Patsy. "I see Caleb's undoing between me and the New Jerusalem. Fool was I. I won his confidence, and led him to believe false doctrine. God, pardon Caleb. I sinned in his sight and laughed at his virtue. Damn not Caleb, O God, but me." Rahab ceased to speak and was carried out. His last words were: "Damn not Caleb, O God, but me." Some said he died of excitement; others said it was of pure consciousness of guilt. A few weeks passed. The night was cold, and Patsy was dying. Caleb sat in a corner of the room. In his mouth was a lighted cigar. At his feet was a split-covered box, from which came a sound that was music to his ears. On a similar night about a year before Patsy cried out pitifully: "My baby, my Caleb, perdition, perdition!" She had sprung forward, as though about to clutch something, and had struck her head against the stove, inflicting an ugly wound. "It was all a dream," she afterwards said. "Methought my Caleb was a babe again. I pressed him to my heart and crooned one of those nonsensical baby ditties so old, yet so sweet to the mother's heart. When he said 'Dad,' 'Dad,' I held him up and kissed his chin, mouth, nose, eyes, and forehead. I looked five years ahead and saw him clinging to my dress while I gathered roses for his brow. I looked ten years ahead and saw him among his schoolmates, contending for the mastery in sports and studies. Again I looked and saw him a man of thirty, I, bent and gray, leaning upon his arm, receiving the confidence of the wise, the respect of the just. Time, the robber, would steal my angel. I held him up and kissed his hands and feet over and over. I fell asleep. When I awoke my baby was lying upon the floor. Thinking it was hurt, I screamed: 'My baby.' Straightway it turned into Caleb, the man, and I called: 'My Caleb!' A flame of fire sprang up and began to circle him round. Then it was I cried: 'Perdition, perdition!' and sprang to help him. This ugly wound on my head will be my death; but Caleb, Caleb!" The night was cold, and Patsy was dying. Caleb sat in a corner of the room. In one hand was the stump of a cigar. In the other was a chicken, still making the sound that was music to his ears. When Patsy's groans disturbed him he moved the empty box with his feet. "Old woman," said he, "I have stolen a chicken. Will you be my guest?" "Caleb," groaned Patsy, "you should not steal." His answer was: "Old woman, you should not meddle." "Caleb, have you seen my chicken?" asked a voice without. "Would you disgrace your mother in death?" asked Patsy, with great effort. "Would you starve me in life?" was Caleb's reply. "My chicken, my chicken!" roared the voice without. "It is fat and tender," chuckled Caleb.