You have a right to know him who has been your friend.

When I am gone--and that will undoubtedly be this winter, perhaps sooner than you, judging from my condition, think--you will find some memoranda in my drawer; they are the history of my early youth, but uneventful as that was, it has had its effect upon my whole life.

It will tell you that the world has been sad, very sad for me, and that I am as glad as an escaped bird to leave it." "There was a time," he added after some hesitation, "when I wished to be buried in a churchyard up in Nordland; but now I think that the place does not make any difference, and that one can rest just as peacefully down here." Saying which, he pressed my hand, and asked me to go for my wife.
When she came, she was surprised to see him brighter and in better spirits than she had ever thought he could be.

He wanted, he said, to ask a favour of her.

It was a whim of his; but, if he should be called away, she must promise him to plant a wild rose upon his grave next spring.
My wife understood how sad the request was when I told her what had already passed; for David had looked so confident and bright when he was talking to her, that the sorrowful element was absent.
My friend's prophecy about himself proved to be only too true.