“You know my secret, Edward. Sometimes I thought that she cared for me, but at others I was despondent, for what had I to offer to such a woman?”
“Your love, Lindsay, and I believe that that would have meant everything to Lady Ethel.”
“You think so?” he said, and his eyes brightened. “Wish her good-bye, and ask her sometimes to think of me. Ah! Edward, I am very sentimental—I suppose it’s the dying. It hasn’t been a bad life. I don’t believe I’ve done many dirty actions. I’ve tried my best. But it’s hard to think that I shall never hear her say that she loves me.”
There were tears in Edward Drake’s eyes as he bent his head and touched his brother’s forehead with his lips.
“I know you’ll miss me, old chap. But perhaps my death won’t be useless. Something tells me that you will win.”
And the eyes closed wearily, and his brow was puckered by a frown of pain.
“Don’t let Ethel grieve. But perhaps she doesn’t care. If only I knew,” he said wistfully.
There was a silence, broken only by his labored breathing, and Edward knew not what to say to soothe his brother’s dying moments. But quickly he bent his head to listen.
“Mother.”
And it was with the name of his parent on his lips and not that of the woman he loved, that Lindsay died. For a long time Edward knelt there, with a great sorrow in his heart. Gladly would he have given his own life for his brother, but, alas, he had been able to do nothing.