He Departeth in Darkness

"He does not think the unfortunate wretch will revive, even
temporarily, then?" commented the lady, conventionally
compassionate, playing with her ringed fingers, turning her diamond
solitaire in various directions to catch the firelight. "How unlucky
he should have strayed upon our grounds! Was he on his way to the
village?"

"Who can say? Not he, assuredly. He has not spoken a coherent word.
Dr. Ritchie thinks he will never be conscious again."

"I am afraid the event will mar our holiday gayeties to some extent,
stranger though he is!" deplored the hostess. "Some people are
superstitious about such things. His must have been the spectral
visage I saw at the window. I was sure it was that of a white man
although Winston tried, to persuade me to the contrary."

"It is dreadful!" ejaculated Mabel energetically. "He, poor homeless
wayfarer, perishing with cold and want in the very light of our
summer-like rooms; getting his only glimpse of the fires that would
have brought back vitality to his freezing body through closed
windows! Then to be hunted down by dogs, and locked up by more
unfeeling men, as if he were a ravenous beast, instead of a
suffering fellow-mortal! I shall always feel as if I were, in some
measure, chargeable with his death--should he die. Heaven forgive us
our selfish thoughtlessness, our criminal disregard of our brother's
life!"