"Why not?" said Jason.
"Don't ask me. Leave me alone. For mercy's sake don't torture a dying man," cried Stephen Orry.
"That's not what I meant to do," said Jason, giving way; "and, if you wish it, I will keep the money."
"Thank God," said Stephen Orry.
Some moments thereafter he lay quiet, breathing fast and loud, while Greeba hovered about him. Then in a feebler voice he said, "Do you think, my lad, you'll ever meet my son?"
"Maybe so," said Jason. "I'll go back when I've done what I came to do."
"What is that?" Greeba whispered, but he went on without answering her.
"Though our country is big, our people are few. Where will he be?"
"I scarce can say. He has gone to look for someone. He's a noble boy, I can tell you that. And it's something for a father to think of when his time comes, isn't it? He loves his father, too—that is, he did love me when he was a little chap. You must know he had no mother. Only think, I did everything for him, though I was a rough fellow. Yes, I nursed him and comforted him as any woman might. Ay, and the little man loved me then, for all he doesn't bear his father's name now."
Jason glanced up inquiringly, first at Stephen Orry and then at Greeba. Stephen saw nothing. His eyes were dim, but full of tenderness, and his deep voice was very gentle, and he rambled on with many a break and between many a groan, for the power of life was low in him.