a last feeble effort to lay his head against her bosom.
"Don't let me go, Mary! Hold me!--closer!--closer! Your heart is warm,
ah, so warm, Mary!--and death is cold--cold----!"

Another moment--and the moonlight, streaming through the open window,
fell on the quiet face of a dead man. Then came silence--broken only by
the gentle murmur of the sea, and the sound of a woman's weeping.

[Footnote 2: Beethoven.]

CHAPTER XXIII

Not often is the death of a man, who to all appearances was nothing more
than a "tramp," attended by any demonstrations of sorrow. There are so
many "poor" men! The roads are infested with them. It would seem, in
fact, that they have no business to live at all, especially when they
are old, and can do little or nothing to earn their bread. Such,
generally and roughly speaking, is the opinion of the matter-of-fact
world. Nevertheless, the death of "old David" created quite an
atmosphere of mourning in Weircombe, though, had it been known that he
was one of the world's famous millionaires, such kindly regret and
compassion might have been lacking. As things were, he carried his
triumph of love to the grave with him. Mary's grief for the loss of the
gentle old man was deep and genuine, and Angus Reay shared it with her
to the full.

"I shall miss him so much!" she sobbed, looking at the empty chair,
which had been that of her own father. "He was always so kind and
thoughtful for me--never wishing to give trouble!--poor dear old
David!--and he did so hope to see us married, Angus!--you know it was
through him that we knew each other!"

"I know!"--and Angus, profoundly moved, was not ashamed of the tears in
his own eyes--"God bless him! He was a dear, good old fellow! But, Mary,
you must not fret; he would not like to see your pretty eyes all red
with weeping. This life was getting very difficult for him,
remember,--he endured a good deal of pain. Bunce says he must have
suffered acutely often without saying a word about it, lest you should
be anxious. He is at rest now."

"Yes, he is at rest!"--and Mary struggled to repress her tears--"Come
and see!"

Hand in hand they entered the little room where the dead man lay,
covered with a snowy sheet, his waxen hands crossed peacefully outside
it, and delicate clusters of white roses and myrtle laid here and there
around him. His face was like a fine piece of sculptured marble in its
still repose--the gravity and grandeur of death had hallowed