“Don’t say it, Charlie. There’s something for you to live for still. Put your hand into my shirt—yes—to the left— now you have it.”
Brereton drew forth a miniature set with brilliants; and as his eyes lit upon it, he gave an exclamation of surprise.
“’T is the one thing I concealed from my creditors,” moaned Sir Frederick, “and now I leave it to you. Watch over and care for her for the sake of your love and of mine, Charlie.”
Brereton leaned down and kissed Mobray on the cheek, as he whispered, “I will.”
“Is—is Miss Meredith here, Charlie?” asked the dying baronet.
“Yes, Sir Frederick,” replied Janice, with a choke.
“I—I—I fear I am a ghastly object,” he went on, “but could you bring yourself—Am I too horrible for one kiss of farewell from you? Charlie will not grudge it to me.”
The girl knelt beside Brereton, and stooping tenderly kissed the dying man on the same spot that Jack had kissed. Mobray’s left hand feebly took hers, and, consciously or unconsciously, brought the one which still held Jack’s to it. Holding the two hands within his own so that they touched, he said chokingly:—
“Heaven bless you, and try to forgive him. Good-by both. I have served my term, and at last am released from the bigger jail.” A little shudder, a twitch, and he was dead.
For a minute the two remained kneeling, then Brereton said sadly:—