clouds; a sort of stupid wonder passed through him, that he had never thought them so lovely before. He strove to keep his heavy eyelids open, to fix them on the blue sky; he felt that if once they closed, never would they open again.
At that moment, a bird fluttered from the bough overhead, and sprang, with a song, into the air. A gleam of sunshine broke forth, as if to light its early path. Sir George moaned aloud in envy; he would have been thankful to be that poor bird. That song was the signal for a thousand others; every bough grew in a moment alive; the sunshine became more golden, and a rich purple flushed deepening every instant in the east.
Again a fierce spasm shook Sir George's now weakened frame; it forced from him a womanish shriek; he was glad to hear it: a wild hope came, that it might bring some chance wanderer to his help; and, in that hope, he filled the air with frantic cries.
He cried in vain; he was dying in the midst of that crowded city, helpless, and alone.
