"To kill Dudgeon. Dad only just got home. I could die happy if I only had."
Again her frame quivered, and she was racked with a fierce struggle to get her breath. She lay against him, her head resting in the hollow of his arm, her eyes closed, and her mouth twitching.
"Tell him," she whispered between her panting gasps. "Tell him—I—tried——"
He touched her hands lying limply in her lap; they were icy cold. Her head was growing heavy on his arm and her lips were turning blue. He moistened them once more with rum as her breathing became almost imperceptible.
For a moment her eyes opened and looked into his with an expression of wonderful tenderness.
"Dudgeon is already dead," he whispered gently.
She started and tried to sit up, but could only raise her head.
"Dead," she whispered. "Dead!"
Then, as though the news galvanised her waning strength into one last tumultuous effort, she flung out her arms and sat up, with wide-open eyes staring fixedly into space.
"Dad! Dad!" she cried. "You did—you did, Dad. Oh, thank——"