They entered the sick-room.
The sick man held out his hand to his wife, saying:
“Come here, Jennie, my girl! You are Countess of Engelmeed! Did you know it? And that doll in your arms is Lady Esther Montgomery!—for a few hours only while I draw the breath of life. Afterward you will only be countess dowager, while she will be countess in her own right. For the earldom of Engelmeed is not a male feoff exclusively, but failing the male line which fails in me, will ‘fall to the distaff,’ as represented by that rag baby of yours. So I think—you are com——” He paused in sudden pain and prostration.
“Do not speak again for the present, my lord. You will hurt yourself. Rest a while,” said the rector, while Jennie looked at her mother in helpless dismay.
“He is delirious again, my dear,” whispered Mrs. Campbell in reply to that look.
“Stoop down——” muttered the dying man in a low, faint, husky voice.
Jennie bent over him to catch his failing words.
“You will be—compensated—for all—you have gone through—by being made—a countess—you ought——”
His voice suddenly ceased. A spasm of pain traversed his face.
“My lord! my lord! Have mercy on yourself and keep still,” pleaded the rector.