"Little Marion, I have forgotten to get a wedding-ring, and even if I had one I could not put it on your finger. I have not the strength left. But then, out there is the great red ring of the sun, and if you hold my hand in yours until it goes down below those housetops, I shall feel that we are married. It is the poor conceit, dearest, of a Fleet Street hack who is weak and spent, and--and--and--well, never mind 'and' what. Will you do it, dearest, to humour a whim? and then I shall sleep sounder this night than ever, for I shall know that nothing can ever part us, for I shall believe this is a real marriage--as real as though it were performed in the dear old Abbey. Now, dearest, the ring begins to dip. Hold my hand and let us be silent until we can see it no more."
In silence they both watched the sun as it sank. She held his hand in both hers. When she could no longer see the sun she turned to him, and said:
"Charlie, it is set."
With a prodigious effort he raised himself in the bed, and, throwing out both his arms towards her, cried in a voice of agony and love: "Marion! Marion, my wife--my dearest! My wife, Marion!" and then fell back, to see the sun no more.
Dr. Rowland heard that cry, and hurried upstairs. He knew what had happened. He took her by the hand.
"Come with me, child, come with me;" and saying these words he led Marion away out of the chamber of death.
THE END.
[April 1885.