We have escaped from that starving desert at a spot--at a spot where we can see--" For a little while he could say no more, but sank upon the stony seat, and the hand with which he tried to point some distant landmark fell away.

His face, which had been so pale before, became of a deadly whiteness, and he breathed with gasps of agony.

I knelt before him and took his hands, and tried to rub the palms, and did whatever I could think of.
"Oh, father, father, you have starved yourself, and given every thing to me! What a brute I was to let you do it! But I did not know; I never knew! Please God to take me also!" He could not manage to answer this, even if he understood it; but he firmly lifted his arm again, and tried to make me follow it.
"What does it matter?
Oh, never mind, never mind such, a wretch as I am! Father, only try to tell me what I ought to do for you." "My child! my child!" were his only words; and he kept on saying, "My child! my child!" as if he liked the sound of it.
At what time of the night my father died I knew not then or afterward.
It may have been before the moon came over the snowy mountains, or it may not have been till the worn-out stars in vain repelled the daybreak.
All I know is that I ever strove to keep more near to him through the night, to cherish his failing warmth, and quicken the slow, laborious, harassed breath.

From time to time he tried to pray to God for me and for himself; but every time his mind began to wander and to slip away, as if through want of practice.

For the chills of many wretched years had deadened and benumbed his faith.