And that he would not do though the cold waters of death covered him more and more, and the coming of the end--in that quiet chamber, while the September sun sank to the appointed place--awoke wild longings and a wild rebellion in his breast.

His thoughts were very bitter, as he lay, his loneliness of the uttermost.

He turned his face to the wall.
In that posture he slept after a time, watched over by Bigot with looks of rage and pity.

And on the room fell a long silence.

The sun had lacked three hours of setting when he fell asleep.