And we come now to the hour of midnight. Trinity had sent forth its hallowed chime, and the echoes had died away in the calm stillness of the night.
Silence reigned in "Sunnybank," not a sound save the heavy tick of the old clock that stood at the top of the grand stairway. Phillip Lawson with book in hand was trying to while away the hours and to divert his mind from the unpleasant thoughts that now and then would arise with peculiar vividness.
A slight rustling causes him to start.
"My dear boy."
The young man leans gently forward and supports the upraised hand.
"Phillip, I have got my prayer. Is Marguerite near?"
Mr. Verne looked agitated, and Phillip Lawson feared the result.
"But you must be very quiet now, Mr. Verne. You know that much depends upon yourself."
"Ah, Phillip, I know it too well, but I have something to tell you, which is killing me by inches. Phillip you are the only one who must know it now. The rest will come in good time—in good time my boy!"
Phillip Lawson administered the soothing draught that had been tri-hourly prescribed, then lovingly placed his arm around the wasted form and laid him softly on the downy pillow.