"'Twill be his end," said the doctor, lifting a warning finger.
"Lift me up," cried the dying man, more strongly than before. The admiral nodded. The young Irishman lifted him a little.
"Higher!" he cried. O'Neill lifted him to a sitting position.
"Not guilty, my Lord!" said the young man, resolutely, in a loud, clear voice, throwing his arms out before him, and still smiling. The blood gushed from his lips; and when they laid him back, his plea was heard in that higher court before which the rich and the poor must all finally appear, before which the admiral and the sailor equally must plead.
"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord," said the chaplain of the Serapis, reverently. The men stood around him in a silence broken only by the woman's sobs.
"He has died like a hero, sir," said Jones at last, removing his hat, "and I venture to say that no one of his gallant race, in all the years of their history, has ever made a better end."
"Ah," said the admiral, rising, and mournfully regarding the little group, Elizabeth praying by the side of his son, O'Neill still supporting his head, "I made my plans, I tempted this honorable gentleman to do a shameful thing; he refused, and it has all come back upon me. I've wrought my own undoing, gentlemen. The hand of God has worked His will, not mine. I am punished; I am overruled. He has written this old man childless. I go down to my grave alone--forever alone!"
"Not so," answered O'Neill, rising. "You have Elizabeth. Let me, too--"
"Peace, sir!" said the old man, waving him back. "The young cling together,--think of each other,--there is nothing left for the old. Our ways lie apart. I bear you in no unkindness, I wish you well. Elizabeth, I had hoped to call you daughter. 'Twas my own pride defeated the wish. May you be happy with this honest gentleman! He deserves you even as did this, my son."
"My father--my father--" cried the girl, catching his hand.