"Shall I tell him?" thought Geoffrey. "Shall I tell him now, at the last moment? Will it make him happier? What is best to do?"
"He is going, sir," the boatswain whispered, "he is going. His heart is getting more feeble, growing fainter."
"Granger," then whispered Barry, "can you hear me--understand me? Listen, ah! listen, and so part happily. She whom you love is free--free now to come to you. Does that in truth make you happier?"
"It--is--too--late," the dying man muttered hoarsely, for the last time!
His head lay even heavier now than before upon the rough sailor's knee; while the man, with a glance at his captain, put up his hand and removed the cap he wore--he being followed in the action by all present.
Yet, still, Granger was not quite dead; still some life was left in the strong, suffering heart. Once again he spoke.
"Tell her," he whispered, as Geoffrey bent his ear, "that--I--died--blessing--loving her--to--the--last. Tell her--I never loved but one; and that--my first--love was my last. Also--in your mercy--leave her picture upon my--breast--where it has always lain since--I lost--her."