"That's good," says he. "No need o' your troublin' about _me_. Ol'
Nick Top's able t' take care o' _his_self! That's very good."
I started away for bed, but turned at the door, as was my custom, to
wish my uncle good-night. I said nothing, for he was in an indubitable
way not to be disturbed--having forgotten me and the affection I
sought at all times to give him. He was fallen dejectedly in his
chair, repeating, "_For behold the Lord will come with fire, and with
his chariots like a whirlwind, to render his anger with fury, and his
rebuke with the flames of fire._" I paused at the door to watch him,
and I saw that his maimed hand wandered over the table until it found
his glass, and that he caught and raised the glass, and that he set it
down again, and that he pushed the empty thing away.