"Will you kiss me, Doll?" he asked. "I shall never ask aught of thee again. Tell the baron," he slowly continued, addressing the priest now, "tell him that I blessed her and told her yes."
Dorothy bent down thoroughly heartbroken, and kissed the marble-like forehead, dropping as she did a shower of tears upon his face.
"What is that, the holy water?" he asked, placing his finger upon one of the drops.
"I could not help it, father," she sobbed aloud, "indeed I could not.
They are tears, but I will wipe them off."
"God bless thee, Doll, thou hast a tender heart. Nay, nay, leave them on I beseech thee, they shall be thy last gift to the old man; I will take them with me into my grave."
He paused, but Dorothy could not speak. She covered her face with her hands and wept on.
"May the Blessed Virgin ever be your friend," he continued, resting his hand upon her head, "and may the saints protect thee. I have naught to give thee, Doll, but thou shalt have my blessing. God bless thee, Doll, God bless thee and thy lover," and he sank back upon the bed completely exhausted.
They sat motionless by his side for some minutes, only Dorothy's sobs and the sick man's broken sighs breaking upon the silence, until at last Manners advanced, and taking the hand of his betrothed, led her unresistingly out into the garden.
Nicholas sat, after their departure, until well into the night, watching by the bedside, before Father Philip opened his eyes again. Many inquirers had visited the room, but they had departed again, and, though they knew it not, they had looked for the last time upon the familiar form of the confessor, ere he breathed his last.
As the morrow dawned the old man passed away, happy, inasmuch as Nicholas had afforded him the last rites of his religion. As the twilight descended the chapel bell rung out upon the stillness of the eventide. It was the Sabbath, but amid the sorrow and the gloom which reigned around, this fact had been well-nigh forgotten.