"Which I brought to you; a letter from Lionel, after he had, you know, dear old boy--board ship and that kind of thing?"
"Yes, that is the letter I mean. You--you knew its contents, Algy?"
"Well, Arthur, I think I did--I--you know Lionel was very fond of me, and--used to be about with him, you know, and that kind of thing--"
"You knew his--his wife?"
"Wife, Gad, did he say?--Jove! Knew you were--dear me!--charming person--lady. Very beautiful--great friend of Lionel's; but not his wife, dear old boy--somebody else's wife."
"Somebody else's wife?"
"Yes; wonderful story. Ive wanted to tell you, and, most extraordinary thing, something always interrupted. Friend of yours too; tall woman red hair, violet eyes--wife of painter-man--Good God, Arthur!"
Well might he start; for Lord Caterham threw his hands wildly above his head, then let them fall helplessly by his side. By the time Algy Barford had sprung to his chair, and passed his arms around him, the dying man's head had drooped on to his right shoulder, and his eyes were glazing fast.
"Arthur! dear Arthur! one instant! Let me call for help."
"No, Algy; leave us so; no one else. Only one who could--and she--better not--bless her! better not. Take my hand, Algy, old friend--tried, trusted, dear old friend--always thoughtful, always affectionate--God bless you--Algy! Yes, kiss my forehead again. Ah, so happy! where the wicked cease from troubling and the--Yes, Lord, with me abide, with me abide!--the darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!"