Edward Percy is a dying man, but his mind was never clearer. He perfectly comprehends the explanations made by Clarence. He had recognized the face of his wife when he lay bleeding at her feet. He closes his eyes and is silent for some moments. Then he asks, in that dying half-whisper, the only tone he ever will use: "You think—I—will—die?"
"You cannot live," replies Clarence, gravely.
Again the wounded man shuts his eyes and thinks; then: "How long—will I—last?" he questions.
"I can keep you alive twenty-four hours—not longer," says Clarence, after a pause.
"Then—I must talk now."
Clarence goes to a table, and pours something into a tiny glass. This he brings, and putting it to the lips of the patient, says: "Try and swallow this. It is a stimulant. Then lie quiet for a few moments; after that you may talk."
This is done, and for a time there is silence in the room. Then the wounded man whispers, with an appearance of more strength: "Tell her—to come here."
Mrs. Ralston moves forward, and he looks at her long and attentively. Then, with a turn of his olden coolness: "You grew tired of me," he said.
"Yes," she replies, in a low, sad voice, "I grew tired of you; very tired. But don't talk of those days now. You are too near the end; think of that!"
"I do," he said, slowly. "But I can't alter the past—and—I don't know—about the future. I want—to see a—notary."