About 4 of the afternoon my father, who had lain for some hours in a state bordering on stupor, and whose breathing had latterly become harsh and difficult, rose suddenly in his bed and called to me in a strong voice. I was by his side in a moment and lifted him up as he signified I should do. A mortal whiteness was in his face and I saw the end was approaching.
“I have no fear,” he said, in a sort of sick ecstasy. “I can be true to myself at the last, thank God! The soul triumphs over the body.”
He swayed in my arms, clutched at me and dragged himself erect again.
“My brain—my brain! Something seems to swerve in it! Quick! Before it’s too late!”
He held on to me. At the last moment the latent determination of his character trod weakness under and proved the soul masterful. With all his functions withering in the blighting breath of the destroyer, his spirit stood out fearless and courageous, a conqueror by its mere individuality.
It had darkened early, and candles were lighted in the room and the blind pulled down. Outside the wind tore at the crazy lattice, or, finding entrance, moaned to and fro in the gusty passages. It threatened to be a night of storm and sweeping rain. And all its wild and dismal surroundings were in keeping with the ghastly figure lying against me. Yet, if there was one in that lonely chamber who shrunk and feared, it was I, not that other so verging on his judgment, with so many and such heavy responsibilities to answer for. God forgive him!
“I triumph, Renalt,” he said, feeding the effort of speech with quick, drawn gasps. “This later craven has never been I—I was strong to carry out a purpose, even if it led me to the gallows. Some white-livered devil usurped. Out with the worm at last! I triumph and abide by that I did in the righteousness of wrath. But you—you! Let me say it—quick—I was fast on the coward grip. Oh, a bitter, bitter curse on the treacherous beast who unmanned me! Only to you, Renalt, I pray and ask for pardon. I thought—all the time—I had killed the boy—the braces—I never knew. He—he, that reptile, suggested—perhaps Modred had—found and kept the cameo. I went up blindly—came down blindly—I was drunk—bestial—I could remember nothing.”
He moaned and would have clasped his hands to me but for weakness. At the last the paralysis of his limbs had departed and he could move. Disease loosened its clutch, it seemed, in the presence of the death it had invoked.
“Renalt—I remembered nothing—but I feared—and, fearing, I saw the odium rest on you and did not speak. It was I gave you to that living death—I who submitted to that fiend’s dictating, because he struck at me through the sordid passion that had mastered my better nature. Renalt——”
“Father—hear me! Am I speaking distinctly? Listen. I forgive you all.”