Without replying, Radwalader glanced eloquently at the Englishman, and, at this mute signal, the latter stepped back.
"What is it?" whispered Andrew. "Do you want to tell us who it was?"
Radwalader shook his head.
"Is it what you were going to tell me a few minutes ago?" asked Andrew, with a kind of intuition.
For a full half-minute, the dying man's eyes were fixed upon the eager, solicitous face that bent so close to his—upon the earnest eyes so curiously like and yet unlike his own, upon the white teeth showing between the parted lips, upon the straight patrician nose and the smooth clear complexion. Then, with a singular smile, a smile almost affectionate in its sweetness:
"It's of no consequence now," he murmured.
He raised one hand, and gently touched Andrew on the cheek.
"Good-by, my boy," he added, more feebly.
His head fell limply, and he shuddered once, and then was very still.