Then softly she read to him from the New Testament all the loving promises of Christ, and the pitiful tenderness of the gospel.
"Just turned thirty, and to die!—I'm not sorry though—God won't be hard on me will He, Miriam?—it was in my blood——!"
"God will take you to Himself, Gerald dear; He is all merciful."
"Ah, well, I am the work of His hands—clay in the hands of the Almighty potter. I have cracked in the furnace of prosperity. Hilda never loved me! Never—never! I gave up all for her. How good you are, Miriam? You will marry Dundas, won't you? and live in the old place—good chap Dundas. He'll soon get things to rights—and poor Gerald will be forgotten——!"
"Never by me, dear."
"Hilda will—Hilda never loved me—never—never——"
That was ever the burden of his cry. Hilda had left him to die alone—had taken all and had given nothing in return. For twelve hours Miriam never left his side, and when the end came she was there to close his dying eyes.
Towards dawn he died. Worn with watching she still held his hand in hers, and soothed him until she saw the change in him which no one could mistake. She rang the bell and sent for the doctor.
The dying man opened his eyes and looked at her and smiled.
"Miriam—Hilda!—ah, poor Hilda—I was bad—good-bye, Miriam—Hilda!—Hilda!"