He was indulged in this;
for it was of little consequence now what he did. He appeared at each
bedside, and at every sofa,--and not with any moving sentiment, but with
genuine gayety. It was full in his thoughts that he had not many days to
live, but he hoped the others had; and he entered into their prospect
of renewed health and activity. At night they said that Patrick had
brightened their Christmas Day.
He died very soon after,--sinking at last with perfect
consciousness,--writing messages to me on his slate while his fingers
would hold the pencil,--calm and cheerful without intermission. After
his death, when the last offices were to be begun, my letters were taken
warm from his breast. Every line that I had ever written to him was
there; and the packet was sent to me by Doctor H--bound round with the
green ribbon which he had himself tied before he quite lost the power.
The kind friends who had watched over him during the months of his
London life wrote to me not to trouble myself about his funeral. They
buried him honorably, and two of his distinguished friends followed him
to the grave.
Of course, I immediately performed my promise. I had always intended
that not only the young lady, but her father, should know what we
thought of Patrick, and what he might have been, if he had lived.
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