"You brought the little Bible?"
"Yes."
"I want you to have it, Phosie, when they have seen it. And the books—you won't care for the books—I'd like the boy to have them—except the Shakespeare—it was my father's—my little girl must have that. There are some other things. I have made my will. It will keep the pot boiling—the pot boiling." He closed his eyes for a moment, when he opened them. "Doctor!" he called.
"Yes, Mr. Williams."
"Give me something to make me strong for a little while. There are things I must say—to you, Miss Elliott. Please give me the stuff, doctor, and leave us alone."
The doctor poured a small quantity of medicine into a glass of water, lifted the patient's head and gave him some of it. Then he beckoned to the others, who followed him out—all but Miss Elliott, who sat by the bed gently stroking the sufferer's hand.
CHAPTER XIX
A TALE THAT IS TOLD
"They have all gone?" Luther Williams fixed his eyes on the woman by his side.