"What a precious coxcomb that fellow Cleve is--chief mourner, egad--and he does it pretty well. 'My inky cloak, good mother.' He looks so sorry, I almost believe he's thinking of his uncle's wedding. 'Thrift, Horatio, thrift!' I say, miss--I always forget your name. My dear young lady, be so good, will you, as to say I feel better to-day, and should be very happy to see Mrs. Mervyn, if she could give me ten minutes?" So she ran down upon her errand, and he drew back from the window, suffering the curtain to fall back as before, darkening the room; and Mr. Dingwell sat himself down, with his back to the little light that entered, drawing his robe-de-chambre about him and resting his chin on his hand. "Come in, ma'am," said Mr. Dingwell, in answer to a tap at the door, and Mrs. Mervyn entered. She looked in the direction of the speaker, but could see only a shadowy outline, the room was so dark. "Pray, madam, sit down on the chair I've set for you by the table. I'm at last well enough to see you. You'll have questions to put to me. I'll be happy to tell you all I know. I was with poor Arthur Verney, as you are aware, when he died." "I have but one hope now, sir--to see him hereafter. Oh, sir! _did_ he think of his unhappy soul--of heaven." "Of the other place he did think, ma'am. I've heard him wish evil people, such as clumsy servants and his brother here, in it; but I suppose you mean to ask was he devout--eh?" "Yes, sir; it has been my prayer, day and night, in my long solitude. What prayers, what prayers, what terrible prayers, God only knows." "Your prayers were heard, ma'am; he was a saint." "Thank God!" "The most punctual, edifying, self-tormenting saint I ever had the pleasure of knowing in any quarter of the globe," said Mr. Dingwell. "_Oh!_ thank God." "His reputation for sanctity in Constantinople was immense, and at both sides of the Bosphorus he was the admiration of the old women and the wonder of the little boys, and an excellent Dervish, a friend of his, who was obliged to leave after having been bastinadoed for a petty larceny, told me he has seen even the town dogs and the asses hold down their heads, upon my life, as he passed by, to receive his blessing!" "Superstition--but still it shows, sir"---- "To be sure it does, ma'am." "It shows that his sufferings--my darling Arthur--had made a real change." "Oh! a _complete_ change, ma'am. Egad, a _very_ complete change, _indeed_!" "When he left this, sir, he was--oh! my darling! thoughtless, volatile"---- "An infidel and a scamp--eh? So he told me, ma'am." "And I have prayed that his sufferings might be sanctified to him," she continued, "and that he might be converted, even though I should never see him more." "So he was, ma'am; _I_ can vouch for that," said Mr. Dingwell. Again poor Mrs. Mervyn broke into a rapture of thanksgiving.