"Leycester," he said, "I—I have something to give you. You—you will understand what it means. It was the charm that bound her to him. I have broken it—broken it! It was for my sake she did it, for mine! I did not know it till to-night. Take it, Leycester," and slowly he drew from his breast the forged paper.
Leycester took it, deeming the boy delirious, and Frank seemed to read his thought.
"You will understand," he panted. "I—I—forged it, and he knew it, and held the knowledge and the paper over her head. You saved my life, Leycester: I give you something better than life, Leycester; I give you—her—Stella!"
His lips quivered, and he seemed sinking; but he made a last effort.
"I—I am dying, Leycester. I am glad, very, very glad. I don't wish to live. It is better that I should die!"
"Frank!" broke from Stella's white lips.
"Don't cry, Stella. While I lived he—he would have held you bound. Now I am dying——" Then his voice failed and his eyes closed, but they saw his lips move, and Stella, bending over him, heard the words—"Forgive, forgive!"
With a loud cry she caught him in her arms, but he had passed away, even beyond her love, and the next moment she fell fainting, still holding him to her bosom, as a mother holds her child.
An hour afterward Leycester was pacing the beach, his arms folded across his breast, his head bent, a storm of conflicting emotions raging within. The boy had spoken truly. The time had come when he understood fully the lad's words. He had gleaned much from the forged bill, which, all torn and stained, lay hidden in his pocket; but the full meaning of the mystery had been conveyed to him by the delirious words of Stella, who lay in a high fever.