"No, there will be no more of it, Leycester," he breathed, painfully. "There will be no more of anything for me; I have seen the last of the Rookery—and of you all. Leycester, I am dying!"
Leycester forced a smile to his white face.
"Nonsense, Bell," he said.
The boy raised a weak, trembling finger, and pointed to the doctor's face.
"Look at him," he said. "He never told a lie in his—life. Ask him."
"Tell them to drive on, my lord," said the doctor.
The boy laughed, an awful laugh; then his face changed, and even as the brougham moved on, he clung to Leycester's hand, and bending forward, panted:
"Leycester—good-bye!"
Leycester stood, white and motionless as a statue, for the space of a minute; then he turned to Lord Charles, who stood biting his pale lips and looking after the brougham.
"I will go with you to-morrow," he said, hoarsely.