Once he said, “I have just dreamed of a tall man, who came to me and said, ’You will be surprised when you meet Edward; he is delighting everyone there with his conversation; he is so much wiser; and he has grown so much handsomer,” adding, with a smile, “though I still think that an impossibility.”

About six o’clock on the morning of the 24th he seemed very uneasy in his sleep.  On waking, he said, “I should like to receive the Sacrament.”

I confess that I thought that he was wandering; he had given up this religious observance for years.  He repeated it, adding, “I am not wandering; I know what I am saying.”

I went at once to the rectory.  The rector was away, and I was directed to the curate, who lived in the village.

I went straight to him, and made my request.  He refused to comply.  I will do him the justice to say that he appeared to be profoundly concerned and distressed.  “I can’t act without my rector in this,” he said.  “I daren’t take the responsibility.  He hasn’t attended the Communion for years; I know his opinions are distinctly unchristian; and in my last talk to the rector, he confessed to me that if Mr. Hamilton (speaking hypothetically) were to present himself for Communion, he should be obliged to refuse him.”

I spoke very hastily, and I think unfairly.  Mr. J——­ tried to remonstrate, but I would not hear him.

When I came back, Arthur was asleep.  As soon as he awoke, before he was quite conscious, he said, “It is like a river; it flows very smoothly, and carries me off my feet; but the sun is on it, and it is very clear.”

I told him about the rencontre.  He smiled faintly, and said, “Ask him to come and see me, at any rate; he can’t refuse that.”  I sent the message at once.

At nine o’clock he had a fearful spasm; so terrible that I could not endure to see it, and left the room.  While I was down-stairs, the curate arrived.  He had come of his own accord, bringing the vessels with him.  It had been, he pleaded, only a momentary hesitation.

In half an hour I was told that he would like to see us.  The doctor was with him; as we entered, he told me, “He can not last an hour.”  Then, to the curate, “You may begin the service, if you like, though I doubt if he can hear you; he certainly will not be able to receive.”

He was very gray about the eyes and temples, and looked fearfully exhausted.  His eyes were closed.  The curate began in a quiet voice, rather agitated.  When he was near the end, Arthur opened his eyes fully and saw him.  The curate went forward.  Arthur held out his hand.  “Thank you for coming,” he said.

The curate grasped his hand, and said, “Can you forgive me for not coming at once?”

“You were doing your duty,” said Arthur; adding, with a half-smile, “and you are doing it now,” as he saw the open book.

Then he began to wander.  I heard him say this:  “He seems to halt.  Yes! but it is only seeming.”