''No, that would be useless. My lower extremities are swelling, and I
can feel the hand of death clutching at my vitals. The doctor was
right; death is not racking me with torture, it is gently embracing me.
But I want your assistance; sit down.'

'I resumed my seat, and Arthur continued, in a feeble tone, but
perfectly calm:

''How mean a thing is life! Good God! so mean, that at this moment I can
not explain to my own soul why man should cling to it. What do we meet
during our short career? Deceit, hypocrisy, and treachery. Ah! death
reveals the hollowness of life.'

''My dear friend, you are exhausting yourself. Did you not say you wanted
my assistance? Rely on my zeal, my fidelity, and my discretion.'

''Rely on you! How can I tell? You are only a man; perhaps avaricious and
treacherous as your fellow-mortals. No matter; though you should
forswear yourself; I, at least, will do what is right. Feel beneath my
pillow, there is a key; take it, open my desk. In the small drawer on
the left is a package of letters. Have you them? Good. Next to that
there is a sealed letter. Now, read aloud the direction on each.'

''Papers to be burnt after my death,' said I, obeying his injunction.

''Well, what do you intend doing with them?'

''Can you for one moment doubt?' I replied.