I have held on to life for your sake as an atonement for my sins.

Now, I go! Cumberledge--your notebook.
Subjective sensations, swimming in the head, light flashes before the eyes, soothing torpor, some touch of coldness, constriction of the temples, humming in the ears, a sense of sinking--sinking--sinking!" It was an hour later, and Hilda and I were alone in the chamber of death.

As Sebastian lay there, a marble figure, with his keen eyes closed and his pinched, thin face whiter and serener than ever, I could not help gazing at him with some pangs of recollection.

I could not avoid recalling the time when his very name was to me a word of power, and when the thought of him roused on my cheek a red flush of enthusiasm.

As I looked I murmured two lines from Browning's Grammarian's Funeral: This is our Master, famous, calm, and dead, Borne on our shoulders.
Hilda Wade, standing beside me, with an awestruck air, added a stanza from the same great poem: Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying, Leave him--still loftier than the world suspects, Living and dying.
I gazed at her with admiration.