Roland called to the labourer, and when the water had been brought Dick seemed to gather his strength together.
'Since I've been lying here, I've wished I could believe I was going to see father again, and I half believe it's possible. I shouldn't care if I was going to the old dad again.'
'Oh, Dick! Can I do nothing for you?'
'No, old chap; only tell her I sent her my love. She has it, and she won't mind now.'
Then he lay silent, with closed eyes. Presently he made a movement. Roland interpreted it, and kissed his face.
'I'm going, old man!' he said. 'Good-bye. Clare! Clare! Clare!' He murmured her name over and over again, more and more faintly.
Roland put the water to his lips again, but it was too late. He had drunk of the Nepenthe of Death.