"If you don't, he'll think I've broken my promise."
"I will. He shall know that you told me. Good-by, Bob, good-by."
But Bob was asleep and did not answer.
It was with the ebbing of the night and the coming of the dawn that Bob's soul went out,—went out in stress and travail.
When the struggle was over, Sydney left the old doctor and his wife kneeling side by side at the edge of the bed, and crept down-stairs. Von Rittenheim was sitting before the fire, his head buried in his hands. He sprang to meet her as she entered.
"Is he——? Has he——?"
The girl nodded.
"Just now."
Suddenly she threw her arms over her head and broke into stifled sobs.
Friedrich was torn with distress. He drew her to the fire, and established her in a big chair, wrapping her warmly in a rug from the couch. Somewhere he found a glass of wine, and made her take it. Then he knelt beside her, rubbing the fingers that were cold and cramped from Bob's long clasp, and talking softly to her as to a child.