"'I have seen Remy,' continued the old man, still addressing the girl, who seemed startled at the name, notwithstanding her grief. 'He has suffered like us; he has been ill, too—very ill; you may trust him now, Marie; he has promised to be kind. Marie, my child, will you trust him?'
"'Dear father, I will do what you wish,' said the girl, weeping.
"'Thank you, Marie,' said the old man, and he tried to carry the white hand to his lips, but he could not. 'And now, Marie—the little locket?'
"Marie stepped softly across the chamber, and brought a small gold locket, very richly wrought, and put it in the old man's hand; the old man raised it toward his face.
"'A little more light, dear Marie,' said he.
"Marie stepped to the window and removed the yellow placard.
"'A little more—light, Marie,' said the old man, feebly. He was getting lower and lower.
"Marie set the door ajar, and, stepping to the window, she pulled a little handkerchief from her pocket, and tried to rub some of the dust from the glass.
"'Light, Marie; dear Marie—more light!' He said it scarce above his breath, but she heard it, and looked at me. I shook my head. She saw how it was, and caught the stiffening hand of the old man.
"'Dear, dear father!' and her tears streamed over it. Her sobs roused the old man for a moment.