He mumbled intermittently, "If I could... remain conscious on Waterloo Memorial Day... put on this waistcoat... walk into St. George's Chapel again, even if just to sit in the last row, and listen to a mass for the fallen soldiers... I would thank God... and then contentedly go meet Horatio Nelson, meet John Moore, and see my brothers and father..."
As he finished this last sentence, his voice had dropped to almost inaudible.
Arthur leaned in to listen, only to find that King William IV's head had slowly drooped down, and the eyes that once held a glimmer had now softly closed, casting a pale, powerless shadow with his lashes; his hand still rested on the armrest, but it lacked the strength to grip firmly.
"Your Majesty?" Arthur called softly, but there was no response.
He did not panic immediately but instead reached out to check the King's pulse.
The pulse was still there, but extremely slow, like an old pocket watch long unoiled, running its final few turns of the spring.
