I don't be calling a box a napkin, Rowland Prothero.' 'May I call in Mrs Jenkins and Howel, and pray for you?
Think; oh think, of the great Judge, and great Mediator.

O God, have mercy upon us, miserable sinners!' As Rowland said this, he clasped his hands, and looked upwards, in unutterable supplication.

The old man was alarmed.
'I don't be going to die, but you may call 'em in.' Rowland rose and obeyed.

Mrs Jenkins appeared with a candle in her hand.
The old man rose with an effort as she drew near the bed.
'Put--out--the--candle,' he muttered.
As the night was fast drawing in, Mrs Jenkins hesitated.
'Put--out--the--candle,' repeated the dying man, with a still stronger effort to rise and extinguish it himself.

'The ruling passion strong in death' must be attended to, and the light was extinguished.
Rowland Prothero clasped his hands with a groan, and repeated aloud a prayer from the service for the dying.