Suddenly the form upon the bed becomes convulsed, the eyes roll wildly and then fix themselves upon Stanhope’s face.
“You promise,” gasps the death-stricken man, “you will tell them—”
The writhing form becomes limp and lifeless, the eyes take on a glassy stare, and there is a last fluttering breath.
Richard Stanhope closes the staring eyes, and speaks his answer in the ears of the dead.
“I will tell them, poor fellow, at the right time, but—before my duty to the dead, comes a duty to the living!”
CHAPTER XXII.
A BUSINESS CALL.
It was grey dawn when Stanhope left the hospital and turned his face homeward, and then it was not to sleep, but to pass the two hours that preceded his breakfast-time in profound meditation.
Seated in a lounging-chair, with a fragrant cigar between his lips, he looked the most care-free fellow in the world. But his active brain was absorbed in the study of a profound problem, and he was quite oblivious to all save that problem’s solution.