A Postscript By Clarence

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He lay muttering incoherently some little time; then for a time he lay silent, and apparently sinking away toward death. Presently his fingers began to pick busily at the coverlet, and by that sign I knew that his end was at hand with the first suggestion of the death-rattle in his throat he started up slightly, and seemed to listen: then he said:

"A bugle?...... It is the king! The drawbridge, there! Man the battlements! -- turn out the --"

He was getting up his last "effect"; but he never finished it.