“Yes.” The doctor spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “It may or may not be a final phase. There may be a slight rally which will enable him to receive the honor about to be paid him. On the other hand it is almost too much to hope for now. Every kind of stimulant has been already administered, but the action of the heart is very feeble and I am sadly afraid that the deputation is making its journey in vain.” “Am I too late?” gasped the vicar. “Not to do your office, I hope. The patient may still be able to receive the sacrament.” “May I see him?” “I shall be very glad for you to do so.” “Let me go to him at once,” gasped the vicar wildly. XLVI HIS eyes growing dark, the vicar asked for a prayer book. When this had been procured, the doctor led him through a maze of dismal corridors to a small door at the extreme end of a long passage. At the doctor’s gentle tap it was opened by the head attendant. “Any change, Boswell?” whispered the doctor. There was no change it appeared. At first the vicar stood irresolute on the threshold of the cell. His manner made it clear that he desired to be alone with the dying man, and in a few moments the doctor and the attendant went away. The vicar, grasping his prayer book like a staff, then passed in alone, and the heavy door swung to behind him with a self-closing click which locked it securely. The room had only a bedstead. It was very hard to see in that night of time through which the vicar was now looking. Not daring to approach the bed, he stood hopelessly by the door, naked in spirit, faint of soul. He could neither speak nor move. There was not a sound in the room, nor any light. He stood alone. He stood alone and without any kind of power; he could neither hear nor see; he was in a void in which time was awfully revealed in a new notation. Broken with fear, he began slowly to lose apperception. How long he remained solitary there was no means of knowing, but at last he heard a voice in the room. It was hardly more than a sigh, yet so strangely familiar and expected was the sound that the vicar knew it at once for the voice of One. “You did as your light directed. Faithful servant, kiss me.” Transfigured with a wild emotion, like music and wine in his heart, the vicar moved to the bed. He fell on his knees, and flung his arms round the form which lay there. He pressed wild kisses upon the luminous face. At the contact of his lips, the image of the spectrum altered and Truth itself was translated to a higher value. Then he seemed to realize that he was holding in his arms a heroic son----. “My darling boy!” he whispered. “My darling boy!” Again he rained kisses on the upturned face.