"My lord," said Kimberley, as he met the earl of Windgall outside the London hotel where the earl was staying, "can you give me a very few minutes?"
"Certainly," said his lordship. "You are not well?" he added, with solicitude.
He had brought a dispatch-box with him; he put it on the table and slowly unlocked it. The earl's heart beat violently as he looked once more upon the precious documents.
"You sent these back to me," said Kimberley. "Will you take 'em now? My lord, my lord, marry lady Ella to the man she loves, and take these for a wedding gift. I helped to torture her. I have a right to help to make her happy."
Windgall was as wildly agitated as Kimberley himself. He recoiled and waved his hands.
"I--I do not think, Kimberley," he said with quivering lip, "that I have ever known so noble an act before."
"If I die," said Kimberley in a loud voice which quavered suddenly down into a murmur, "everything is to go to Lady Ella, with my dearest love and worship."
Windgall caught only the first three words; he tugged at the bell-pull, and sent for a doctor.
An hour afterwards Kimberley was in bed with brain fever.
On the following morning Jack Clare stood in the rain on the deck of the steamship Patagonia, a travelling-cap pulled moodily over his eyes, watching the bestowal of his belongings in the hold.