And the dying man, still sitting bolt upright, one hand on his knee, and the other grasping the golden coin, still babbled in his delirium in the hollow tone of death. He talked of everything. He bought and sold, received rent and distressed tenants, paid notes and protested them, made imaginary sums by the sale of stocks, and achieved imaginary triumphs by the purchase of profitable tracts of land,--it was a frightful scene. The Doctor shuddered, and as he looked at his watch, muttered a word of prayer. The Colonel turned his face away, but was forced by an involuntary impulse, to turn again and gaze upon that livid countenance. The boy Gulian--in the shadows of the room--sunk on his knees and uttered a prayer, broken by sobs. At length the dying man seemed to recover a portion of his consciousness. Turning his gaze from the golden coin which he still clutched in his fingers, he said in a voice which, in some measure, resembled his every-day tone,-- "Send for a minister, a minister, quick! I am very weak." The words had scarcely passed his lips, when a soft voice exclaimed, "I am here, my dear friend Somers, I trust that this is not serious. A sad, sad affliction, you have encountered to-night. But you must cheer up, you must, indeed." The minister had entered the room unperceived, and now stood by the bed-side. "Herman Barnhurst!" ejaculated Colonel Tarleton. The tall, slender figure of the clergyman, dressed in deep black, was disclosed to the gaze of the dying man, who gazed intently at his _blonde_ face, effeminate in its excessive fairness, and then exclaimed, reaching his hand,-- "Come, I am going. I want you to show me the way!" "Really, my dear friend," began Barnhurst, passing his hand over his hair, which, straight and brown and of silken softness, fell smoothly behind his ears, "you must bear up. This is not so serious as you imagine." "I tell you I am going. I have often heard you preach,--once or twice in Trinity--I rather liked you--and now I want you to show me the way! Do you see there?" he extended his trembling hand, "there's the way I'm going. It's all dark. You're a minister of my church too; I want you to _show me the way_?" There was a terrible emphasis in the accent,--a terrible entreaty in the look of the dying man. The Rev. Herman Barnhurst sank back in a chair, much affected. "Has he made his will?" he whispered to the Doctor, "so much property and no heirs: he could do so much good with it. Had not you better send for a lawyer?" The Doctor regarded, for a moment, the fair complexion, curved nose, warm, full lips, and rounded chin of the young minister; and then answered, in a low voice,