"Tell him, sir! what should I tell him but the truth? That you had
stayed here late because of Charley's being took worse and nobody with
him, and had read the burial service to him for his asking; and that you
came most evenings, and was just as good to him as gold. He said he'd
see Charley for himself then; and he went in and talked to him, oh so
gently and nicely about his soul; and gave little Nanny half-a-crown
when he went away. Sometimes it happens, sir, that those who look to
have the hardest faces have the gentlest hearts. And Charley's dying,
sir. He was took worse again this evening at five o'clock, and I hardly
thought he'd have lasted till now. The doctor has been, and thinks he'll
go off quietly."
Quietly perhaps in one sense, but it was a restless death-bed. He was
not still a minute; but he was quite sensible and calm. Waking up out of
a doze when I went in, he held out his hand.
"It is nearly over, sir."
I was sure of that, and sat down in silence. There could be no mistaking
his looks.
"I have just had a strange dream," he whispered, between his laboured
breath; and his eyes were wet with tears, and he looked curiously
agitated. "I thought I saw mother. It was in a wide place, all light and
sunshine, too beautiful for anything but heaven. Mother was looking at
me; I seemed to be outside in dulness and darkness, and not to know how
to get in. Others that I've known in my lifetime, and who have gone on
before, were there, as well as mother; they all looked happy, and there
was a soft strain of music, like nothing I ever heard in this world. All
at once, as I was wondering how I could get in, my sins seemed to rise
up before me in a great cloud; I turned sick, thinking of them; for I
knew no sinful person might enter there. Then I saw One standing on the
brink! it could only have been Jesus; and He held out His hand to me and
smiled, 'I am here to wash out your sins,' He said, and I thought He
touched me with His finger; and oh, the feeling of delight that came
over me, of repose, of bliss, for I knew that all earth's troubles were
over, and I had passed into rest and peace for ever."
Nanny came up, and gave him one or two spoonfuls of wine.
"I don't believe it was a dream," he said, after a pause. "I think it
was sent to show me what it is I am entering on; to uphold me through
the darksome valley of the shadow of death."
"Mother said she should be watching for us, you know, Charley," said the
child.
A restless fit came over him again, and he stirred uneasily. When it had
passed, he was still for awhile and then looked up at me.
"It was the new heaven and the new earth, sir, that we are told of in
the Revelation. Would you mind, sir--just those few verses--reading them
to me for the last time?"
Nanny brought the Bible, and put the candle on the stand, and I read
what he asked for--the first few verses of the twenty-first chapter. The
little girl kneeled down by the bed and joined her hands together.
"That's enough, Nanny," I whispered. "Put the candle back."
"But I did not tell all my dream," he resumed; "not quite all. As I
passed over into heaven, I thought I looked down here again. I could
see the places in the world; I could see this same Oxford city. I
saw the men here in it, sir, at their cards and their dice and their
drink; at all their thoughtless folly. Spending their days and nights
without a care for the end, without as much as thinking whether they
need a Saviour or not. And oh, their condition troubled me! I seemed
to understand all things plainly then, sir. And I thought if they
would but once lift up their hearts to Him, even in the midst of their
sin, He would take care of them even then, and save them from it in
the end--for He was tempted Himself once, and knows how sore their
temptations are. In my distress, I tried to call out and tell them
this, and it awoke me."
"Do you think he ought to talk, sir?" whispered Nanny. But nothing more
could harm him now.
My time was up, and I ought to be going. Poor Charley spoke so
imploringly--almost as though the thought of it startled him.
"Not yet, sir; not yet! Stay a bit longer with me. It is for the last
time."
And I stayed: in spite of my word passed to Dr. Applerigg. It seems to
me a solemn thing to cross the wishes of the dying.
So the clock went ticking on. Mrs. Cann stole in and out, and a lodger
from below came in and looked at him. Before twelve all was over.
I went hastening home, not much caring whether the proctor met me again,
or whether he didn't, for in any case I must go to Dr. Applerigg in the
morning, and tell him I had broken my promise to him, and why. Close at
the gates some one overtook and passed me.
It was Tod. Tod with a white face, and his hair damp with running. He
had come from Sophie Chalk's.
"What is it, Tod?"
I laid my hand upon his arm in speaking. He threw it off with a word
that was very like an imprecation.
"What _is_ the matter?"
"The devil's the matter. Mind your own business, Johnny."
"Have you been quarrelling with Everty?"
"Everty be hanged! The man has betaken himself off."
"How much have you lost to-night?"
"Cleaned-out, lad. That's all."
We got to our room in silence. Tod turned over some cards that lay on
the table, and trimmed the candle from a thief.
"Tasson's dead, Tod."
"A good thing if some of us were dead," was the answer. And he turned
into his chamber and bolted the door.