He waived her question aside impatiently. His strength was failing him again and he seemed anxious to say what he had to say before he was unable.
“Listen!” he began, fighting hard to preserve his consciousness. “You have a power that will lead you to much. This image here has spoken through you. He has a secret worth millions and–––”
“But my father,” pleaded the girl, with a tremor in her voice. “Can it help me to him?”
“Yes! Yes! But do not leave me. Be patient. The priest––the priest is close by. He––he did this,” placing his hand over the wound, “and I fear he––he may come again.”
He staggered back a pace and stared in terror about him.
“I am not afraid of most things,” he apologized, “but that devil he is everywhere. He might be–––”
There was a sound in the hall below. Sorez placed his hand to his heart again and staggered back with a piteous appeal to Wilson.
“The image! The image!” he gasped. “For the love of God, do not let him get it.”
Then he sank in a faint to the floor.
Wilson looked at the girl. He saw her stoop for the revolver. She thrust it in his hand.