He took to his bed with a chill, which turned to peritonitis; the system showed no power of resistance, and he died.
On the day but one before he died, when the mortal pain was gone, but death was absolutely certain, he sent post-haste for his brother Reuben.

Reuben he believed was married to a decent woman, and to Reuben he meant to commend his children.
Reuben arrived, looking more bewildered and stupid than ever, pure countryman that he was, in this London which he had never seen.
Sandy looked at him with a deep inward dissatisfaction.

But what could he do?
His marriage had cut him off from his old friends, and since its wreck he had had no energy wherewith to make new ones.
'I've never seen your wife, Reuben,' he said, when they had talked awhile.
Reuben was silent a minute, apparently collecting his thoughts.
'Naw,' he said at last; 'naw.

She sent yo her luve, and she hopes iv it's the Lord's will to tak yo, that it ull foind yo prepared.' He said it like a lesson.

A sort of nervous tremor and shrinking overspread Sandy's face.