Ray stooped over and put his ear to the drawn lips. A few whiffs of inarticulate breath mocked the dying man’s endeavor to speak. “I’m sorry; I can’t catch a syllable,” said Ray.
A mute despair showed itself in the old man’s eyes.
“Look at me father!” cried Mrs. Denton. “Is it about your book?”
The faintest smile came over his face.
“Did you wish to ask Mr. Ray if he would speak to Mr. Brandreth about it?”
The smile dimly dawned again.
“Well, he has spoken to him. He went to see him last night, and he’s come to tell you”—Ray shuddered and held his breath—“to tell you that Mr. Brandreth will take your book, and he’s going to publish it right away!”
A beatific joy lit up Hughes’s face; and Ray drew a long breath.
Peace looked at her sister.
“I don’t care!” said Mrs. Denton, passionately, dropping her voice. “You have your light, and I have mine.”