"Father, don't!" panted Harry, as Mr. Castlemaine sat catching up ever and anon his breath in sobs, though his eyes were dry. "It may be better for me to go. I used to look forward, I've often done it, to being a good son to you in your old age: but it may be best as it is."
Mr. Castlemaine could not trust himself to answer.
"And you'll forgive me for all the trouble I've cost you! As I trust God has forgiven me. I have been thinking of Him all day, father."
A terrible sob now. Mr. Castlemaine knew not how to keep down his emotion. Oh, how bitter it was to him, this closing hour, his heart aching with its pain!
"It won't be so very long, father; you'll be coming, you know: and it is a journey that we must all take. What's the matter?--it's getting dark!"
Mr. Castlemaine raised his eyes to the window. The light was certainly fading on the panes; the dusk was stealing over the winter afternoon. Harry could only speak at intervals, and the words came out with long pauses between them. Mr. Castlemaine fancied he was beginning slightly to wander: but a great many of us are apt to fancy that when watching the dying.
"And you'll take care of Jane, father? Just a little help, you know, to keep her from being thrown on the world. It's not much she'll want I don't ask it."
The damp hand, lying in Mr. Castlemaine's was, pressed almost to pain; but there was no other answer. The aching heart was well-nigh unmanned.
"And don't be angry with Marston, father: he only did what I made him do. He is a better man than we have thought him. He was very good to me when he was here to-day, and left me comfort."
Mr. Castlemaine lodged his elbow on his knee, and bent his brow upon his hand. For some time there was silence. Harry, who had none of the restlessness sometimes characteristic of the final scene, lay quite still, his eyes closed.