"Eleven--already? I shall go at dawn, Leonard. You remember Johnston
died at dawn, and so did Askew."

"For heaven's sake don't speak like that, Tom! If you think you are
going to die, you will die."

The sick man laughed a ghost of a laugh--it was half a death-rattle.

"It is no use talking, Leonard; I feel my life flaring and sinking like
a dying fire. My mind is quite clear now, but I shall die at dawn for
all that. The fever has burnt me up! Have I been raving, Leonard?"

"A little, old fellow," answered Leonard.

"What about?"

"Home mostly, Tom."

"Home! We have none, Leonard; it is sold. How long have we been away
now?"

"Seven years."

"Seven years! Yes. Do you remember how we said good-bye to the old place
on that winter night after the auction? And do you remember what we
resolved?"

"Yes."

"Repeat it."