command, I _dared_ not betray my
grief by any outward sign. I knelt down by his side silently.

He went on in a voice that, though hollow and often interrupted by
failing breath, was perfectly measured and steady.

"You can only be glad that the end has come at last, though it is well I
have had time to prepare myself. Am I ready now? I can not tell. Foster
says I ought to hope. I trust it is not wicked to say I do not _fear_. I
have sinned often and deeply; but He who will judge me created me, and
He knows, too, how much I have suffered. I do not mean from _this_ (he
threw his hand toward his crippled limbs with the old gesture of
disdain), but from bitterness and loneliness of heart. More than all, I
am sure my darling has been pleading for me ever since she died. I will
not believe her prayers have been wasted.

"I want to tell you what I have done. You know the direct line of my
family ends with me. I am glad it does. The next in succession would be
a cousin, who has taken to some trade in Edinburgh; a good man, I
believe--but he would not do here. So I have left Kerton to my mother
for her life, and then--to you. Hush! the time is too short for
objections or thanks, and death-bed gifts show little generosity.
Besides, I would have left it to Isabel, only it would be more a trouble
to her than any thing else. You will take care of every thing and every
body. Say farewell for me to my old friends, especially to Mohun. Poor
Ralph! he will be sorry--though he will not own it--when he comes back
from Bohemia and finds me gone."

He raised himself a little, so as to rest his hand on my shoulder as I
knelt, while his voice deepened in its solemn calm:

"Dear Frank, one other word for yourself, who have borne so patiently
with my perverse temper since we were boys together. I have been silent,
but, indeed, not ungrateful. For all your kind, unselfish thoughts, and
words, and deeds--for all the good you would have counseled--for all
your efforts to stand between me and wrong-doing--tried friend, true
comrade! I thank you now, heartily, and I pray God to bless you always."

It was only self-control, almost superhuman, that enabled him to speak
those words steadily, for the fierce death-throe was possessing him
before he ended. Through the awful minutes that followed, not another
sound than the hissing breath escaped through his set lips; his face was
not once distorted, though the hair and beard clung round it, matted a