Later in the day the fever which had left him returned; and a feeling of despair laid hold of Stephen. Suppose he did not get well—suppose he should die! It would be so much more easy to die than to live; why should he wish to pass again beyond the four white walls of that room! Then he thought of his little son, and begged Gibbs who was watching at his side to find him pen and paper. These were brought him, the general propped him up in bed with pillows, and the sick man took the pen with feeble fingers. After all, in his poverty and sickness, his misery of body and spirit, in what he now believed was the final dire extremity, he turned to Virginia. She had been his first friend and she was his last. With infinite difficulty, for his eyes seemed ready to leap from their sockets, and the pen would slip from his weak fingers, he wrote two letters. The first was to Virginia; the other to Benson. This labour, for it was a real labour, he finished at intervals during the afternoon. The result was two rambling incoherent letters which bore entirely upon his son's future; of himself he said nothing. What was in these letters Gibbs did not know then; but when they were written, he said: “Now I suppose you want me to post 'em for you, Steve?” Landray shook his head. “No, we'll wait until to-morrow.” “But why wait?” urged Gibbs impatiently. “You'll be changing your mind the first thing I know, Steve.” “Perhaps I shall—I may not send them at all,” and he lay back wearily among his pillows. “I don't want to alarm my aunt needlessly,” he added. “The sooner she knows of the situation here the better satisfied I shall be,” said Gibbs. “I believe you want to see the last of me, general,” said Landray, smiling whimsically at his friend. “No, I don't, Steve, but I do want to see you get out of this. I figure on joining you wherever you go; you need me; you're too much of a gentleman to get money easy, and you need me.” “But how about you, general?” “Being a gentleman?” a wide grin overspread the general's battered face. “Well, I ain't any illusions left on that score. I about manage to hit the prevailing level. Put me down as good company; I'll keep up my end anywhere. I'm versatile; but I reckon you know the best and the worst of me, Steve—it's the common human average. That's why you need me; you're just a peg above the average, so was your father and uncle; and everybody loved 'em for it; but it didn't stand in the way of their taking advantage of 'em. Now nobody's ever got into me very deep; I've always been able to take handsome care of my own skin; and when Providence settles with the meek in spirit, the name of Gibbs won't be mentioned; there'll be nothing coming to me that I ain't got!”