The man gasped as he concluded the last sentence, and the duke said:

"You had better rest now. A little rest will do more good than any stimulant."

"You think so? Nay, rest would be death for me now. I must go on while my nerves are strung up; once they relax, I die."

"Very well; I am listening attentively."

"As soon as Rose was discharged from custody I sought her out, and there was a mutual explanation and reconciliation. But the testimony of John Potts, given on the trial of Rose Cameron, had placed my life in great jeopardy: so we secretly left the country. We went away separately for our greater security. I went first. Rose came on a week later. We met by appointment at L'Ange. In the obscurity of that village we hoped for safety; but I was tormented by remorse; for the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison lay heavily on my soul. There, my wife, Rose, gave birth to a little girl, whom we secretly placed in the rotary basket at the door of the Infants' Asylum attached to this convent. The good nuns received it, and cared for it. They called it _Marie Perdue_, 'Lost Mary.' After Rose's recovery, we went away, because it was not safe for us to remain so near home with such sharpers as English detectives and French police on our track. We took refuge in Italy, in the Sanctuary of the Holy See.

We stayed there several months, when, thinking that all pursuit had been abandoned, and longing to see our child, we came on a flying visit to L'Ange. But the police were on the watch for us. I was arrested, as you have heard, on the day after my arrival. Quick work; but you see the chief of police here telegraphed the police in London, and brought the detectives. .h.i.ther within twenty-four hours. You know the rest. I am dying here by my own hand. It was a mad, rash, impulsive act, for which I am deeply sorry; but--I am dying in expiation of _my_ share in the tragedy at Lone Castle."

The young duke took the emaciated hand of the failing man and pressed it in silence; he was too deeply moved to trust himself to speak.

"I have but this to say now. I leave a wife and helpless child. They are penniless and friendless. You will not let them starve," murmured the man.

"Oh, no, no, I will care for them, believe me, as long as we all shall live," said the duke, earnestly.

"That is all. Bid me good-by now. And when you go out ask good Sister Francoise to send the priest," said John Scott, holding out his white, cold hand.

"I will. Good-bye. May our merciful Father in heaven bless and save you, my poor brother," murmured the duke, pressing that pale hand, laying it tenderly on the coverlet, and gliding from the room of death.

Ten minutes later, the good Father Garbennetti was closeted with his penitent, administering religious consolation.

When the last sacred offices were all performed, the priest retired, and the wife and child of the dying man were admitted to his presence, with permission to remain with him to the end.

In the meantime, the Duke of Hereward, conducted by Doctor Dubourg, traversed the long pa.s.sages leading from the Old Men's Home to the convent.

As they went on, the duke gave the doctor instructions to supply the patient with everything that he should require during the last few hours of his life; and after death to take direction of the funeral, and charge all expenses to himself (the duke), adding:

"I shall, of course, remain at L'Ange until all is over."

"It will not be long, monseigneur. The poor man has been kept up by mental excitement and by strong stimulants all day long; there comes a fatal reaction soon, from which nothing can raise him. He will not outlive the day."

"I am very sorry for him," murmured the duke.

"He was, perhaps, a distant relative of your grace. There is a slight family likeness," suggested the doctor.

"There is a very remarkable family likeness, and he is a very near relative," answered the duke, adding; "I hope you will kindly follow the instructions I have given you in regard to him."

"I will faithfully follow them out, monseigneur," said the doctor, with a bow.

At the entrance to the convent proper they were met by an elderly nun, who brought the lady superior's compliments and begged leave to announce that refreshments were laid in the receiving-parlor, if the Duke of Hereward and Doctor Dubourg would do the house the honor to partake of them.

The young duke was tired and hungry from his long journey and longer fast, and gratefully accepted the sister's courteous invitation in his own and the doctor's name.

The nun led the way to the parlor, where a table was set out, not merely with slight refreshments, but with the first course of a dainty dinner, which the forethought of the abbess had caused to be prepared for her n.o.ble guest.

The duke and the doctor sat down to the table, and were attentively waited on by two of the elder sisterhood.

Notwithstanding the good appet.i.te of the guests and the delicacy of the viands set before them, the meal pa.s.sed in gravity and in almost total silence, for the thoughts of the two companions were with the dying man whom they had left in the Old Men's Home.

When they had finished dining, and had arisen from the table, a message was delivered by one of the old nuns who had waited upon them, to the effect that the lady superior desired to see the duke in the portress'

room for a few minutes, before his departure.

The duke immediately signified his readiness to wait on the lady, and followed his conductress to the little room behind the wicket appropriated to the portress.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

Two hours before this, the lady superior had conducted the young d.u.c.h.ess to the private apartment of the abbess, to await the issue of events.

Salome, pale, and trembling with excitement, sank into the nearest chair.

"You do not fear to meet the duke, my child?" inquired the abbess, uneasily, as she also dropped into her seat.

"Fear to meet my own magnanimous husband? Oh, no, no! I do not fear to meet him; but I long to meet him with an infinite longing!" fervently exclaimed Salome.

"I am very glad to hear you say so. And you are sure of his prompt and full forgiveness?" said the abbess, softly.

"'Sure of his forgiveness!'" echoed Salome, with a holy and happy smile.

"Yes, as sure of his forgiveness as I am of the Lord's pardon!"

"And yet when he hears the truth and understands all, he will know that he has nothing to forgive. And he should know and understand everything before he sees you. For this reason, as well as for several others, I have brought you here, and I advise you to seclude yourself yet for a few hours. I do not wish you to see the duke, or even to advise him of your presence in the house, until he has seen the dying man and heard the confession of the truth from his lips. That confession will prepare your husband to receive and understand you, better than any explanation you could possibly make would do. It will also save you from the distress of having to make a long explanation. Do you understand me, my child?"

"Yes, dear mother, I understand, and thank you for your wise counsels."

"I have also given directions to Sister Dominica that after he shall have concluded his interview with Mr. Scott, and partaken of dinner, which will be prepared for him in the receiving parlor, he shall be requested to meet me in the portress' room, where I propose to break to him the intelligence of your presence in the house."

"Thanks, dear mother! infinite, eternal thanks for all your great goodness to me," fervently exclaimed Salome.

"You are much too extravagant in your expressions of grat.i.tude, my daughter! You exaggerate like a school-girl!" smiled the abbess.

"Oh! I will prove by my acts that I do not exaggerate my feelings at least!" persisted Salome.

And then, with girlish enthusiasm, she began to tell the lady-superior all she intended to do for the benefit of the convent charities, and especially for the "Infants' Asylum."

The vesper-bell summoned them to chapel, where the evening service occupied them for an hour.

They then went to the refectory, and joined the sisterhood at tea.

In coming from the refectory, they were met in the corridor by old Sister Dominica, who stopped the abbess, respectfully, and said:

"I come, holy mother, to report to you that I have followed all your instructions. Monseigneur le Duc and Monsieur le Docteur have well dined.

Monsieur le Docteur has returned to his patient, Monseigneur le Duc has gone to the wicket-room to await madame, our holy mother."