O God,
we belong to thee utterly. We dying men are thy children, O living
Father! Thou art such a father, that thou takest our sins from us
and throwest them behind thy back. Thou cleanest our souls, as thy
Son did wash our feet. We hold our hearts up to thee: make them
what they must be, O Love, O Life of men, O Heart of hearts! Give
thy dying child courage, and hope, and peace--the peace of him
who overcame all the terrors of humanity, even death itself, and
liveth for evermore, sitting at thy right hand, our God brother,
blessed to all ages--amen."
"Amen!" murmured the marquis, and slowly lifting his hand from the
coverlid, he laid it on the head of Malcolm, who did not know it
was the hand of his father, blessing him ere he died.
"Be good to her," said the marquis once more. But Malcolm could not
answer for weeping, and the marquis was not satisfied. Gathering
all his force he said again, "Be good to her."
"I wull, I wull," burst from Malcolm in sobs, and he wailed aloud.
The day wore on, and the afternoon came. Still Lady Florimel had
not arrived, and still the marquis lingered.
As the gloom of the twilight was deepening into the early darkness
of the winter night, he opened wide his eyes, and was evidently
listening. Malcolm could hear nothing; but the light in his master's
face grew, and the strain of his listening diminished. At length
Malcolm became aware of the sound of wheels, which came rapidly
nearer, till at last the carriage swung up to the hall door.
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