“You’ll find him changed since you was here last, sir; but you’ll pretend you don’t notice anything, won’t you, sir?  He’s that nervous about himself.”

Philip nodded, and she led him into the dining-room.

“Here’s Mr. Philip, sir.”

The Vicar of Blackstable was a dying man.  There was no mistaking that when you looked at the hollow cheeks and the shrunken body.  He sat huddled in the arm-chair, with his head strangely thrown back, and a shawl over his shoulders.  He could not walk now without the help of sticks, and his hands trembled so that he could only feed himself with difficulty.

“He can’t last long now,” thought Philip, as he looked at him.

“How d’you think I’m looking?” asked the Vicar.  “D’you think I’ve changed since you were here last?”

“I think you look stronger than you did last summer.”

“It was the heat.  That always upsets me.”

Mr. Carey’s history of the last few months consisted in the number of weeks he had spent in his bed-room and the number of weeks he had spent downstairs.  He had a hand-bell by his side and while he talked he rang it for Mrs. Foster, who sat in the next room ready to attend to his wants, to ask on what day of the month he had first left his room.

“On the seventh of November, sir.”

Mr. Carey looked at Philip to see how he took the information.

“But I eat well still, don’t I, Mrs. Foster?”

“Yes, sir, you’ve got a wonderful appetite.”

“I don’t seem to put on flesh though.”

Nothing interested him now but his health.  He was set upon one thing indomitably and that was living, just living, notwithstanding the monotony of his life and the constant pain which allowed him to sleep only when he was under the influence of morphia.

“It’s terrible, the amount of money I have to spend on doctor’s bills.”  He tinkled his bell again.  “Mrs. Foster, show Master Philip the chemist’s bill.”

Patiently she took it off the chimney-piece and handed it to Philip.

“That’s only one month.  I was wondering if as you’re doctoring yourself you couldn’t get me the drugs cheaper.  I thought of getting them down from the stores, but then there’s the postage.”

Though apparently taking so little interest in him that he did not trouble to inquire what Phil was doing, he seemed glad to have him there.  He asked how long he could stay, and when Philip told him he must leave on Tuesday morning, expressed a wish that the visit might have been longer.  He told him minutely all his symptoms and repeated what the doctor had said of him.  He broke off to ring his bell, and when Mrs. Foster came in, said: 

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you were there.  I only rang to see if you were.”

When she had gone he explained to Philip that it made him uneasy if he was not certain that Mrs. Foster was within earshot; she knew exactly what to do with him if anything happened.  Philip, seeing that she was tired and that her eyes were heavy from want of sleep, suggested that he was working her too hard.