The great chamber looked dreary and bare, as carpet and hangings had been removed to lessen the chance of future infection.
John Girdlestone stepped softly across to the bedside and sat down by his dying friend.
The sufferer was lying on his back, apparently unconscious of all around him.

His glazed eyes were turned upwards towards the ceiling, and his parched lips were parted, while the breath came in quick, spasmodic gasps.

Even the unskilled eye of the merchant could tell that the angel of death was hovering very near him.

With an ungainly attempt at tenderness, which had something pathetic in it, he moistened a sponge and passed it over the sick man's feverish brow.

The latter turned his restless head round, and a gleam of recognition and gratitude came into his eyes.
"I knew that you would come," he said.
"Yes.