Walter lay white and still upon the bed, his fair, curling locks brushed back, the long lashes lying on his pale cheeks like one asleep; but at the soft swish of Jaquelina's silken robe he opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Oh, Walter, I am so sorry!" she cried. "Oh, why—why did you do it?"
"Lina, it was for your sake," he replied.
"You should not have done it; it was all wrong," she cried out, quickly.
"Lina, do not blame me," he said, weakly; "I could not help it. I am so sorry for you, dear."
Jaquelina pressed the hand she held impulsively to her lips.
"I remembered what you said," Walter continued, in feeble accents—"that life had given you all save happiness—and I would so gladly have given you that, too, Lina."
"Oh, Walter, you have a noble heart!" she cried, and a faint smile curved his lips.
"But I have failed," he said, so sadly. "I have utterly failed, and the only pleasant thought I have in dying is that I have given my life in the attempt to make you and Ronald happy."