Parker, who was kneeling by the bed, supporting his master in his arms, turned his head as I came in sight, and made a gesture with it. I came close up. “He’s going fast, sir, I’m afraid,” he whispered. The old man was sitting up in bed looking quite straight before him. His lips were slightly parted; and his eyes were full of expectancy. He kept lifting his hands gently, half opening them with a welcoming movement, and then letting them fall. Now he leaned gently forward, as if to meet something with his hands extended, then sinking a little back upon Parker’s arm. He paid no attention to me, and it seemed as if his eyes were focused to an almost infinite distance. I too knelt down by the bed and waited watching him. Then there came soft footsteps at the door, but it was not for that he waited. Then a whispering and a sobbing: and I knew that the servants were gathering outside. Still he waited for that which he knew would come before he died. And the expectancy deepened in his eyes to an almost terrible intensity; and it was the expectancy that feared no disappointment. It was perfectly still outside, the servants were quiet now, and the old man’s breathing was inaudible. Once I heard the far-off bark of a dog away somewhere in the village. As I watched his face I saw how wrinkles covered it, the corners of his eyes and his forehead were deeply furrowed, and the lines deepened and shifted as his face worked. And then suddenly he cried out: “He is coming, my son, He is coming far away.” And then silence. I heard a sudden movement outside and then stillness again. Then a maid broke out into sobbing: and I heard footsteps, and then the door of my room across the landing open and shut: and the sobbing ceased. But the old man paid no heed. Then suddenly he cried out again: “Behold He stands at the door and knocks.” He made an indescribable gesture with his hands. Then I was startled, for there came a loud pealing at the bell downstairs. Parker whispered to me to send one of the servants downstairs: and I went to the door for an instant and told the boy to go: then I came back. The boy’s footsteps died away down the staircase. I knelt down again by the bed. Then once more the old man cried out: “He is coming, my son. He is here:” and then, “Look!” As he said this across his face there came an extraordinary smile; for one moment, as I started up and looked, his face was that of a child, the wrinkles seemed suddenly erased, and a great rosy flush swept from forehead to mouth, and his eyes shone like stars. I noticed too, even at this moment, for I was almost facing him as I sprang up, that the focus of his eyes was contracted to a point at the foot of his bed where the screen stood. Then he fell back; and Parker laid him gently down. A moment after footsteps came up the stairs: and the boy whispered from the doorway that the Rector had come. THE END