"Not dying?" asked Paul Morton, with a pale face, for though expected, the intelligence startled him.
"Yes; you must come quick, or you will not see him alive."
Paul Morton rose mechanically from his chair, and hastily thrust into his pocket a sheet of paper on which he had been making some arithmetical calculations as to the fortune of his dying guest, and following the nurse entered the sick chamber.
It was indeed as she had said. Ralph Raymond was breathing slowly and with difficulty, and it was evident from the look upon his face, that the time of the great change had come.
Robert stood by the bedside holding his father's hand, and sobbing bitterly.
As Paul Morton entered, the dying man turned his glazing eyes toward him, and then toward the boy at his side, as if again to commend him to his care.
Paul understood, and with pale face he nodded as if to assure the dying man that he undertook the trust.
Then a more cheerful look came over the face of Ralph. He looked with a glance of tender love at his son, then his head sank back, his eyes closed, and the breath left his body.
The deed was consummated! Ralph Raymond was dead!
"Poor gentleman! So he's dead!" said the nurse with a professional sigh, "and no doubt he's better off."