exhaustion. I see now that they had very little hope of recovery, but I
did not wholly perceive it then.

Then I went with the Canon to the end of the room. I saw two iron
cylinders on the table with brass fittings, and somehow knew that they
contained oxygen.

The Canon knocked, and Hugh's voice said, clearly and resonantly, "Come
in." I found him in bed, in a big library, the Bishop's own room. There
were few signs of illness except a steam-kettle and a few bottles; a
nurse was in the adjoining room. He was unable to speak very much, as
his throat troubled him; but he was full of humour and brightness. I
told him such news as I could think of. He knew that I was very busy,
but was pleased that I had come to see him. He said that he felt really
better, and that I should be able to go back the next day. He said a few
words about a will he had made, but added, "Mind, I don't think I am
going to die! I did yesterday, but I feel really better. This is only
by way of precaution." We talked about a friend of mine in Manchester, a
militant Protestant. "Yes," said Hugh, "he spoke of me the other day as
a 'hell-hound'--not very tactful!" He said that he could not sleep for
long together, but that he did not feel tired--only bored. I was told I
must not stay long with him. He said once or twice, "It's awfully good
of you to have come."

[Illustration: _Photo by Lofthouse, Crosbie & Co._

BISHOP'S HOUSE, SALFORD

The Church on the left is the transept of St. John's Cathedral, Salford,
where Hugh preached his last sermon. The room in which he died was the