"We will leave them together," I said to Gabrielle.
"LEADING A CADAVEROUS, GHASTLY-LOOKING MAN BY THE HAND."
I took the poor little girl's hand and led her from the room.
She was in a frantic state of excitement.
"I said he was not dead," she repeated—"I always said it. I was sitting by my window a few minutes ago, and I saw him in the garden. This time I was determined that he should not escape me. I rushed downstairs. He knew nothing until he saw me at his side. I caught his hand in mine. It was hot and thin. It was like a skeleton's hand—only it burned with living fire. 'Mother is dying—come to her at once,' I said to him, and then I brought him into the house."
"You did well—you acted very bravely," I replied to her.
I took her away to a distant part of the house.
An hour later, Mrs. Heathcote died. I was not with her when she breathed her last. My one object now was to do what I could for poor little Gabrielle. In consequence, therefore, I made arrangements to have an interview with Heathcote. It was no longer possible for the wretched man to remain in hiding. His own hours were plainly numbered, and it was more than evident that he had only anticipated his real death by some months.