At a word from Laura the sister rose and called Pietro. He was waiting in the passage. He came to the bedside and stood opposite to Laura, bending down and pressing Arden's wasted hand; he was very pale.
"Ghisleri—dear old friend—good-bye—I am going. Take care of her—you and Harry—" He gasped for breath.
"So help me God, I will do my best," answered Pietro, solemnly.
Arden gave him one grateful look. Then with a last effort he drew Laura's face to his and kissed her once more.
"Love—love—love—"
The light went out in his eyes and Herbert Arden was dead, dying as he had lived of late, and perhaps all his life, unselfish in every thought and deed.
With a cry that seemed to break her heart, Laura fell forward upon the shadowy form that seemed so unnaturally small as it lay there under the white coverlet. Ghisleri knelt in silence a few minutes beside his dead friend, and then rose to his feet.
"She has fainted," said the sister softly. "If you could lift her with me—"
But Ghisleri needed no help as he lifted the unconscious woman in his arms and carried her swiftly from the room. He laid her upon the very sofa on which he had seen her fall asleep on the previous night, and rang for Donald as he had then done.
"His lordship is dead," he said in a low voice, as the Scotchman entered. "Her ladyship has fainted. Please send me her maid."