He had not been well of late and had been ordered a long rest by his doctor, but he was not conscious of fatigue.

He would not have left his post for a king's ransom, for he felt himself communing with the dying, sharing the last stage in his journey as he had shared all the rough marches.

His proud spirit found a certain solace in the abasement of its humbleness.
A little before six the morning light began to pale the lamps.

The window showed a square of grey cloudy sky, and outside on the porch there was a drip of rain.

The faces revealed by the cold dawn were as haggard and yellow as that of the dying man.