in mind, but unmistakably on the rise. I may confess now that I feel
relieved of a horrid burden. Last night I hardly slept a wink. I lay
awake listening to the pendulum of my clock. It seemed to say, "He
lives--he dies." I fully expected to hear it stop suddenly at _dies_.
But it kept going all the morning, and to a decidedly more lively tune.
In the afternoon the old man sent for me. I found him in his great
muffled bed, with his face the color of damp chalk, and his eyes glowing
faintly, like torches half stamped out. I was forcibly struck with the
utter loneliness of his lot. For all human attendance, my villainous
self grinning at his bedside and old Robert without, listening,
doubtless, at the keyhole. The _bonhomme_ stared at me stupidly; then
seemed to know me, and greeted me with a sickly smile. It was some
moments before he was able to speak. At last he faintly bade me to
descend into the library, open the secret drawer of the secretary (which
he contrived to direct me how to do), possess myself of his will, and
burn it up. He appears to have forgotten his having taken it out night
before last. I told him that I had an insurmountable aversion to any
personal dealings with the document. He smiled, patted the back of my
hand, and requested me, in that case, to get it, at least, and bring it
to him. I couldn't deny him that favor? No, I couldn't, indeed. I went
down to the library, therefore, and on entering the room found Theodore
standing by the fireplace with a bundle of papers. The secretary was
open. I stood still, looking from the violated cabinet to the documents
in his hand. Among them I recognized, by its shape and size, the paper
of which I had intended to possess myself. Without delay I walked
straight up to him. He looked surprised, but not confused. "I am afraid
I shall have to trouble you to surrender one of those papers," I said.

"Surrender, Maximus? To anything of your own you are perfectly welcome.
I didn't know that you made use of Mr. Sloane's secretary. I was looking