
    »But there is one who would gladly prove his affection in the way you wish.
He who owes you not only his own deliverance from so many dangers, but who
inherits a heavy debt of gratitude from his ancestors. The stone shall be put at
the head of your grave.«
    The old man extended his meagre hand, and gave the other a squeeze of
thanks.
    »I thought you might be willing to do it, but I was backward in asking the
favour,« he said, »seeing that you are not of my kin. Put no boastful words on
the same; but just the name, the age, and the time of the death, with something
from the holy book. No more, no more. My name will then not be altogether lost
on 'arth; I need no more.«
    Middleton intimated his assent, and then followed a pause that was only
interrupted by distant and broken sentences from the dying man. He appeared now
to have closed his accounts with the world, and to wait merely for the final
summons to quit it. Middleton and Hard-Heart placed themselves on the opposite
sides of his seat, and watched with melancholy solicitude, the variations of his
countenance. For two hours there was no very sensible alteration. The expression
of his faded and time-worn features was that of a calm and dignified repose.
From time to time, he spoke, uttering some brief sentence in the way of advice,
or asking some simple question concerning those in whose fortunes he still took
a friendly interest. During the whole of that solemn and anxious period each
individual of the tribe kept his place, in the most self-restrained patience.
When the old man spoke, all bent their heads to listen; and when his words were
uttered they seemed to ponder on their wisdom and usefulness.
    As the flame drew nigher to the socket, his voice was hushed, and there were
moments when his attendants doubted whether he still belonged to the living.
Middleton, who watched each wavering expression of his weather-beaten visage
with the interest of a keen observer of human nature softened by the tenderness
of personal regard, fancied that he could read the workings of the old man's
soul, in the strong lineaments of his countenance. Perhaps what the enlightened
soldier took for the delusion of mistaken opinion did actually occur, for who
has returned from that unknown world to explain by what forms and in what manner
he was introduced into its awful precincts. Without pretending to explain what
must ever be a mystery to the quick, we shall simply relate facts as
