He continued to look at her with dull wistful, pathetic eyes.
"Have I?" he gasped, feebly. "Have I?"
And then the gleam died out of his face in the shrouding darkness that was creeping over him. He was quiet for several minutes, and Rachel laid her cheek on the pillow beside him, and listened to the faint rattle which now and then told that the "step or two dubious of twilight" between sleep and death was not yet crossed, motioning the other watchers away from the bedside, that he and she might be alone together.
And suddenly he roused himself, and said—panting the words out slowly and huskily, but evidently with a perfect consciousness of their meaning—"Rachel—you can—have him—now."
Her arm was under his pillow, and she drew it back to her gently until his head lay next her breast.
"Hush—hush—hush!" she said, with choking sobs. But he went on steadily, as if he had not heard her.
"Only tell him—not to—not to—lead little Alfy—into bad ways."
After a pause, he said,
"Do you hear!—tell him—"
"He will not—he could not!" she broke out eagerly. "He is a good, good man, though people think he is not! He will take care of little Alfy, my darling—do not be afraid—he will never lead him into bad ways—never never!"