The last phrase lingered in Alec’s mind; and slowly its meaning dawned upon him. “You mean I might die at any moment?” he asked. “No, no--I don’t say that,” the other answered evasively. “But you see the fever has left you very weak; and of course in such cases one can never be quite sure----” The rest did not reach Alec’s ears; he was only vaguely aware of the murmur of the man’s voice. Presently he perceived that he had risen. “I will come back in the afternoon,” he was saying. “I’ll tell Mrs.--Mrs. Parker to bring you in some breakfast.” After the doctor had gone he dozed a little.... Then remembered the man’s words--“No immediate danger, but you must be prepared for the worst.” The sense of it all flashed upon him: he understood what the man had meant: that was the way doctors always told such things he guessed. So the end was near.... He wondered, a little curiously, if it would come before to-night, or to-morrow.... It was near, quite near, he repeated to himself; and gradually, a peacefulness permeated his whole being, and he was vaguely glad to be alone.... A little while, and he would be near God. He felt himself detached from the world, and at peace with all men. His life, as he regarded it trailing behind him, across the stretch of past years, seemed inadequate, useless, pitiable almost; of his own personality, as he now realised it, he was ashamed--petty mortifications, groping efforts, a grotesque capacity for futile, melancholy brooding--he rejoiced that he was to have done with it. The end was near, quite near, he repeated once again. Then, afterwards, would come rest--the infinite rest of the Saviour’s tenderness, and the strange, wonderful expectation of the mysterious life to come.... A glimpse of his own serenity, of his own fearlessness, came to him; and he was moved by a quick flush of gratitude towards God. He thought of the terror of the atheist’s death--the world, a clod of dead matter blindly careering through space; humanity, a casual, senseless growth, like the pullulating insects on a rottening tree.... A little while, only a little while, and he would be near God. And, softly, under his breath, he implored pardon for the countless shortcomings of his service.... The German clock on the mantel-piece ticked with methodical fussiness: the flames in the grate flickered lower and lower; and one by one dropped, leaving dull-red cinders. Through the window, under the half-drawn blind, was the sky, cold with the hard, white glare of the winter sun, flashing above the bare, bony mountain-backs; and he called to mind spots in the little, desolate parish, which, with a grim, clinging love, he had come to regard as his own for always. Who would come after him, live in this house of his, officiate in the square, grey-walled church, move and work in God’s service among the people?...