Into the company of these two worthies I now found myself thus accidentally thrown, and would gladly have retreated at once, but that some indescribable impulse to be near my father's sickbed was on me; and so I crept stealthily in and sat down in a large chair at the foot of the bed, where unnoticed I listened to the long-drawn heavings of his chest, and in silence wept over my own desolate condition. For a long time the absorbing nature of my own grief prevented me hearing the muttered conversation near the lire; but at length, as the night wore on and my sorrow had found vent in tears, I began to listen to the dialogue beside me. “He 'll have five hundred pounds under his grandfather's will, in spite of us. But what 's that?” said the attorney. “I 'll take him as an apprentice for it, I know,” said the doctor, with a grin that made me shudder. “That's settled already,” replied Mr. Basset. “He's to be articled to me for five years; but I think it 's likely he 'll go to sea before the time expires. How heavily the old man is sleeping! Now, is that natural sleep?” “No, that's always a bad sign; that puffing with the lips is generally among the last symptoms. Well, he'll be a loss anyhow, when he's gone. There's an eight-ounce mixture he never tasted yet,--infusion of gentian with soda. Put your lips to that.” “Devil a one o' me will ever sup the like!” said the attorney, finishing his tumbler of punch as he spoke. “Faugh! how can you drink them things that way?” “Sure it's the compound infusion, made with orangepeel and cardamom seeds. There is n't one of them did n't cost two and ninepence. He 'll be eight weeks in bed come Tuesday next.” “Well, well! If he lived till the next assizes, it would be telling me four hundred pounds; not to speak of the costs of two ejectments I have in hand against Mullins and his father-in-law.” “It's a wonder,” said the doctor, after a pause, “that Tom didn't come by the coach. It's no matter now, at any rate; for since the eldest son's away, there's no one here to interfere with us.” “It was a masterly stroke of yours, doctor, to tell the old man the weather was too severe to bring George over from Eton. As sure as he came he'd make up matters with Tom; and the end of it would be, I 'd lose the agency, and you would n't have those pleasant little bills for the tenantry,--eh. Fin?” “Whisht! he's waking now. Well, sir; well, Mr. Burke, how do you feel now? He 's off again!” “The funeral ought to be on a Sunday,” said Basset, in a whisper; “there 'll be no getting the people to come any other day. He 's saying something, I think.” “Fin,” said my father, in a faint, hoarse voice,--“Fin, give me a drink. It 's not warm!” “Yes, sir; I had it on the fire.” “Well, then, it 's myself that 's growing cold. How 's the pulse now. Fin? Is the Dublin doctor come yet?” “No, sir; we 're expecting him every minute. But sure, you know, we 're doing everything.”