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‘I’m quite prepared now,’ he said, and his voice had a dif-
ferent tone in it. ‘When the Lord sees fit to call me I am
ready to give my soul into his hands.’
Philip did not speak. He could see that his uncle was sin-
cere. It was almost a miracle. He had taken the body and
blood of his Savior, and they had given him strength so that
he no longer feared the inevitable passage into the night. He
knew he was going to die: he was resigned. He only said one
thing more:
‘I shall rejoin my dear wife.’
It startled Philip. He remembered with what a callous
selfishness his uncle had treated her, how obtuse he had
been to her humble, devoted love. The curate, deeply moved,
went away and Mrs. Foster, weeping, accompanied him to
the door. Mr. Carey, exhausted by his effort, fell into a light
doze, and Philip sat down by the bed and waited for the end.
The morning wore on, and the old man’s breathing grew
stertorous. The doctor came and said he was dying. He was
unconscious and he pecked feebly at the sheets; he was rest-
less and he cried out. Dr. Wigram gave him a hypodermic
injection.
‘It can’t do any good now, he may die at any moment.’
The doctor looked at his watch and then at the patient.
Philip saw that it was one o’clock. Dr. Wigram was think-
ing of his dinner.
‘It’s no use your waiting,’ he said.
‘There’s nothing I can do,’ said the doctor.
When he was gone Mrs. Foster asked Philip if he would
go to the carpenter, who was also the undertaker, and tell

10 Of Human Bondage