“No, do not take your hand away,” he said eagerly. “There need be no shame, for I shall be clay almost before you flush has had time to fade. I infringe on no other's rights, for I see in you only another whom you much resemble.”
Rachel suffered her hand to remain within his grasp.
“I would that she knew as you do, that I died thinking of her, next to my country. You will write and tell her so. The Doctor will give you her address, and you can tell her, as only a woman can tell another what the woman-heart hungers for, of my last moments. It is so much better that you should do it than Dr. Denslow, even, grand as he is in every way. You will tell her that there was not a thought of repining—that I felt that giving my life was only partial payment to those who gave theirs to purchase for me every good thing that I have enjoyed. I had twenty-five years of as happy a life as ever a man lived, and she came as its crowning joy. I look forward almost eagerly to what that Power, which has made every succeeding year of my life happier than the previous one, has in store for me in the awakening beyond. Ah, see there! It has come. There goes my life.”
She looked in the direction of his gaze, and saw a pool of blood slowly spreading out from under the bed, banking itself against the dust into miniature gulfs and seas. The hand that held hers relaxed, and looking around she saw his eyes closed as if in peaceful sleep.
Dr. Denslow entered while she still gazed on the dead face, and said:
“I am so sorry I left you alone. I did not expect this for some hours.”
“How petty and selfish all my life has been,” said Rachel, dejectedly, as they left the room.
“Not a particle more than his was, probably,” said Dr. Denslow, “until his opportunity came. It is opportunity that makes the hero, as well as the less reputable personage, and I have no doubt that when yours comes, you will redeem yourself from all blame of selfishness and pettiness.”