He turned from Delia toward her.
“Breadalbane is blood-guilty to the soul,” he gasped. “Yet kiss me—and I will sign—thy lie.”
She took a pen and inkhorn from her pocket, dipped the pen and put it between his slack fingers—while Delia tried to force her back.
“Ye shall not do it!” she cried desperately to Ronald.
But he took no heed of her.
“Kiss me—” he murmured, “Margaret! Margaret!”
She caught hold of him, thrusting Delia aside. “Margaret!”
“Sign!” shrieked the Countess at sight of his face, but he rolled out of her arms between them.
“Ye are too late!” cried Delia, springing up.
Lady Breadalbane gave one look at his dead face, then rose also.