By degrees, that exciting spectacle grew indistinct to the eyes of the Marquis; and the music no longer fell upon his ears in varied and defined tones, but with a droning monotonous sound.
"Kathleen—Kathleen," he murmured, speaking with the utmost difficulty, "reach me the glass—place the goblet to my lips—it will revive me for a few minutes——"
The Irish girl shuddered in spite of herself—shuddered involuntarily as she felt the cheek of the Marquis grow cold and clammy against her bosom.
"Kathleen—dear Kathleen," he murmured in a whisper that was scarcely audible; "give me the goblet!"
Conquering her repugnance, the Irish girl, who possessed a kind and generous heart, reached a glass on the table near the sofa; and, raising the nobleman's head, she placed the wine to his lips.
With a last—last expiring effort, he took the glass in his own hand, and swallowed a few drops of its contents:—his eyes were lighted up again for a moment, and his cheek flushed; but his head fell back heavily upon the white bosom.
Kathleen endeavoured to cry for aid—and could not: a sensation of fainting came over her—she closed her eyes—and a suffocating feeling in the throat almost choked her.
But still the music continued and the dance went on, for several minutes more.
All at once a shriek emanated from the lips of Kathleen: the music ceased—the dance was abandoned—and the Irish girl's companions rushed towards the sofa.
Their anticipations were realised: the Marquis was no more!