was no sound in the room but the drip of water from a stump or two,
and John's distressful gasps, as he slowly breathed his life away. I
thought him nearly gone, and had just laid down the fan, believing
its help to be no longer needed, when suddenly he rose up in his
bed, and cried out with a bitter cry that broke the silence, sharply
startling every one with its agonized appeal,--

"For God's sake, give me air!"

It was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boon
he had asked; and none of us could grant it, for all the airs that
blew were useless now. Dan flung up the window. The first red streak
of dawn was warming the gray east, a herald of the coming sun. John
saw it, and with the love of light which lingers in us to the end,
seemed to read in it a sign of hope of help, for, over his whole
face there broke that mysterious expression, brighter than any
smile, which often comes to eyes that look their last. He laid
himself gently down; and, stretching out his strong right arm, as if
to grasp and bring the blessed air to his lips in a fuller flow,
lapsed into a merciful unconsciousness, which assured us that for
him suffering was forever past. He died then; for, though the heavy
breaths still tore their way up for a little longer, they were but
the waves of an ebbing tide that beat unfelt against the wreck,
which an immortal voyager had deserted with a smile. He never spoke
again, but to the end held my hand close, so close that when he was
asleep at last, I could not draw it away. Dan helped me, warning me
as he did so, that it was unsafe for dead and living flesh to lie so
long together; but though my hand was strangely cold and stiff, and
four white marks remained across its back, even when warmth and
color had returned elsewhere, I could not but be glad that, through