“It is my fault. But for me you would never have come here.”
“The fortune of war, and I’m not sure that I am altogether sorry.”
Edward Drake had sunk on his knees and he spoke a simple prayer that was eloquent of great sorrow.
“Doctor, shall I last long?” Lindsay asked faintly. “This pain is more than I can bear.”
The doctor drew near and skillfully injected morphia.
“Ah! That is better,” the dying man said with a sigh. “How long have I to live?”
“Captain, you are dying,” the doctor answered, and his voice shook.
“Please leave us. Thank you for your kindness. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, captain.”
Alone, the brothers looked at one another, overwhelming sorrow in their eyes.