The dying fingers closed round his own.
"I forget nothing," said the Gentleman simply. "I regret nothing."
"Nothing?" asked the Parson, stubborn to do his duty.
The other closed his eyes.
"One thing perhaps."
"What?"
There was a sighing silence.
"Ireland," came the quivering reply.
"Sir," cried Kit, with flashing intuition, "you are dying for her."
The other squeezed his fingers.