“That’s right. Quick, before it’s too late.”
“Oh, if help would only come,” moaned the woman.
“No help can come, my lass. Now, put your hand under me and lift my head on your shoulder. That’s right. Ah!”
He uttered a groan of agony, and lay speechless as she raised him; and the wife turned cold with horror, as it seemed to her that he was dead, but his lips moved again.
“Now,” he said, “I can talk without feeling strangled. Gartram has made an end of me, and it’s a dying man speaking to you. It’s almost a voice from the dead telling you what to do.”
“Yes, dear, tell me. What shall I do?”
“You’ll swear to do what I tell you?”
“Yes, Isaac, anything.”
“You’re in the presence of death, wife, with the good and evil all about us, and what you say is registered against you.”
“Yes, dear,” said the woman, shuddering.