"Betty is afraid," he continued, with a gasp between each word, as soon as Cliffe had left us. "Betty is afraid, and her husband's a fool."
The implied request, even at that moment, struck me as wonderfully characteristic of the man. So long as his own desires were at stake he disregarded his sister's fears; but no sooner had all chance of gaining them failed, than his affection for her reasserted itself, and even drove him to the length of asking help from his chief enemy.
"I will see that no harm comes to her."
"Promise!"
I promised, somehow touched by his trust in me.
"I knew you would," he said gratefully; and then, with a smile: "I am sorry I hit you with my whip--Morrice. I could have loved you."
Again he lay silent, plucking at the grass with the fingers of his left hand.
"Lift me higher! There is something else."
I raised his body as gently as I could; but nevertheless the rough bandage which Cliffe had fastened over the wound became displaced with the movement, and the blood burst out again, soaking through his shirt.
"You spoke of a miniature----" he began, and then with a little gasping sob he turned over in my arms, and fell forward on the grass upon his face.