"No, my lord." The lids fell again, softly, slowly. "Be good to
her, Malcolm," he murmured.
"I wull, my lord," said Malcolm solemnly.
Then the eyes opened and looked at him; something grew in them--
a light as of love, and drew up after it a tear; but the lips said
nothing. The eyelids fell again, and in a minute more, Malcolm knew
by his breathing that he slept.
The slow night waned. He woke sometimes, but soon dozed off again.
The two watched by him till the dawn. It brought a still grey
morning, without a breath of wind, and warm for the season. The
marquis appeared a little revived, but was hardly able to speak.
Mostly by signs he made Malcolm understand that he wanted Mr Graham,
but that some one else must go for him. Mrs Courthope went!
As soon as she was out of the room, he lifted his hand with effort,
laid feeble hold on Malcolm's jacket, and drawing him down, kissed
him on the forehead. Malcolm burst into tears, and sank weeping by
the bedside.
Mr Graham entering a little after, and seeing Malcolm on his knees,
knelt also, and broke into a prayer.
"O blessed Father!" he said, "who knowest this thing, so strange
to us, which we call death, breathe more life into the heart of
thy dying son, that in the power of life he may front death. O Lord
Christ, who diedst thyself, and in thyself knowest it all, heal
this man in his sore need--heal him with strength to die."
Came a faint Amen from the marquis.
"Thou didst send him into the world: help him out of it.
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