"Lena," he said, suddenly leaning forward, and speaking with a touch of passion in his voice, "you may rely on me—I will do all I can to make her happy."
"I know you won't be stern, Philip; you will make allowances for her odd, wild ways; you will love her a little—and oh, do forgive me for the charge I am laying on your young shoulders."
"There is nothing to forgive—that's all nonsense, you know," he said. "Anyway, I would have looked after Angel; I am her next of kin out here."
"Yes, poor darling; and only for you she would be destitute indeed. I have nothing to leave her but these," and Mrs. Wilkinson touched, as she spoke, her pearl necklace and bangles. "Her father was lavishly extravagant and gave me this," indicating a splendid diamond ring, "and though often hard up, I have never parted with it. I somehow felt that Angel had a claim on it. Let her have it when she is eighteen."
"Certainly," he answered; "but I trust you may live to wear it yourself, Lena. Why should you not pull through?"
"Oh, I don't know—I may—I may," she faltered; "but now I have told you my wishes I will not keep you. Good-bye," and she held out her hand, and as he took it she turned away her face and burst into low, agonising sobs. She had entirely exhausted her last reserve of strength. Mrs. Rattray now entered the room and beckoned the visitor out, saying:
"Lena is completely overwrought; she has been talking too long, but she was so painfully anxious to see you—we could not refuse her."
The trained nurse came forward, and as Mrs. Rattray dropped the curtain before the door of the sick-room, she looked up at Gascoigne interrogatively.
"She wanted you to promise something," she said.
"Yes; if she should die, I am going to take charge of Angel."