Summary

Portrait of Edgar Jepson Edgar Jepson The Garden at No. 19 — Chapter 12 (1910)

The autumn wore through; and we never felt the tediousness of the declining year. Long walks with Pamela took the place of my lawn tennis; and I never missed it. In the fuller and healthier life she was enjoying she throve like a flower in its proper sunshine; her beauty and charm increased.
The rites, as Woodfell had promised, were not again that autumn celebrated in the garden of No. 19; at any rate the full rites were not. But some rites were celebrated in his study—at least so it seemed —for three or four times he sent Pamela to bed early, and locked her in her room.
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Portrait of Edgar Jepson Edgar Jepson The Garden at No. 19 — Chapter 12 (1910)

I dropped on one knee beside Woodfell, poured brandy into the teaspoon, raised him, and poured it into his mouth. Then I laid him back, re-filled the teaspoon, gave him the brandy, and laid him back again. Pamela stood with a hand on my shoulder; and I could hear her teeth chattering. We watched him a minute, or a minute and a half. His face in that dim light looked blueish. His faint breathing grew stronger; and I gave him more brandy. All the while fear unspeakable tore at my vitals.
In another minute, without opening his eyes, he whispered: "The medicine—on the table."
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Edgar Jepson Edgar Jepson The Garden at No. 19 — Chapter 12 (1910)

It was the thinness of an ascetic who fasts often; and his bedroom was as bare as an ascetic's cell.
As I bade him good-night, he asked me to ask Pamela to bring him a glass of milk.
I came down stairs, and found Pamela nearly as shaky as her uncle.
I kissed her and said, "Your uncle wants a glass of milk, and then you must get to bed quickly, dear child."
"Wasn't it horrible?" she said. "I have never had such a fright. I never dreamt that I could be so full of terror. I never could have come back to uncle by myself. He would just have died.
Source: Wikisource

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