"Mona! Are you crying for me?" says Paul Rodney, as though surprised. "Do not. Your tears hurt me more than this wound that has done me to death."
"Oh, if I had not given you that pistol," sobs Mona, who cannot conquer the horror of the thought that she has helped him to his death, "you would be alive and strong now."
"Yes,—and miserable! you forget to add that. Now everything seems squared. In the grave neither grief nor revenge can find a place. And as for you, what have you to do with my fate?—nothing. What should you not return to me my own? and why should I not die by the weapon I had dared to level against yourself? There is a justice in it that smacks of Sadlers' Wells."
He actually laughs, though faintly, and Mona looks up. Perhaps he has forced himself to this vague touch of merriment (that is even sadder than tears) just to please and rouse her from her despondency,—because the laugh dies almost as it is born, and an additional pallor covers his lips in its stead.
"Listen to me," he goes on, in a lower key, and with some slight signs of exhaustion. "I am glad to die,—unfeignedly glad: therefore rejoice with me! Why should you waste a tear on such as I am? Do you remember how I told you (barely two hours ago) that my life had come to an end where other fellows hope to begin theirs? I hardly knew myself how prophetic my words would prove."
"It is terrible, terrible," says Mona, piteously sinking on her knees beside the bed. One of his hands is lying outside the coverlet, and, with a gesture full of tender regret, she lays her own upon it.
"Are you in pain?" she says, in a low, fearful tone. "Do you suffer much?"
"I suffer nothing: I have no pain now. I am inexpressibly, happy," replies he, with a smile radiant, though languid. Forgetful of his unfortunate state, he raises his other hand, and, bringing it across the bed, tries to place it on Mona's. But the action is too much for him. His face takes a leaden hue, more ghastly than its former pallor, and, in spite of an heroic effort to suppress it, a deep groan escapes him.
"Ah!" says Mona, springing to her feet, and turning to the door, as though to summon aid; but he stops her by a gesture.
"No, it is nothing. It will be over in a moment," gasps he. "Give me some brandy, and help me to cheat Death of his prey for a little time, if it be possible."