From the moment when he failed in his attempt upon the life that had defied him, no word had escaped his lips. Silent, moody, and utterly hopeless, this proud-spirited, evil-hearted Son of Chance, enters the prison gates, and, as they close upon him, we have done with Lucian Davlin, a convict for life!
CHAPTER XLIX.
AS THE FOOL DIETH.
Edward Percy is dying—was dying when they lifted him from the drawing-room carpet, and gently laid him on the couch hastily prepared by Hagar and the frightened servants. They have watched beside him through the night, and now, in the gray of the morning, Clarence Vaughan still keeps his vigil.
The wounded man moves feebly, and turns his fast dimming eyes toward the watcher. "I thought—I saw—some one," he says, brokenly, "when—I fell. Who—was—the lady?"
His voice dies away, as Clarence, bending over him, answers gently: "You mean the lady that stood near the door, whose face was turned away?"
"Yes," in a whisper; "was it—my—wife?"
Clarence turns toward the window where Mrs. Ralston sits, out of view of the sick man.
She moves forward a little. "Tell him," she says, in a low voice.