"You have it," replied Wingfield, kneeling beside him, "and may God pardon us both—you for the wrong you did my daughter, me for being accidentally the cause of your death. But I trust you are not mortally hurt?"
"I have not many minutes to live," replied Argentine. "But is not that Leonard Holt?"
"It is," said Rochester, stepping forward.
"I can then do one rightful act before I die," he said, raising himself on one hand, and holding the other forcibly to his side, so as to stanch in some degree the effusion of blood. "Leonard Holt," he continued, "my sister Isabella loves you—deeply, devotedly. I have tried to conquer the passion, but in vain. You have my consent to wed her."
"I am a witness to your words my lord," said Rochester, "and I call upon all present to be so likewise."
"Rochester, you were once my friend," groaned Argentine, "and may yet be a friend to the dead. Remember the king sells titles. Teach this young man how to purchase one. My sister must not wed one of his degree."
"Make yourself easy on that score," replied Rochester; "he has already sufficient claim upon the king. He saved his life yesterday."
"He will trust to a broken reed if he trusts to Charles's gratitude," replied Argentine. "Buy the title—buy it, I say. My sister left me yesterday. I visited my anger on her head, and she fled. I believe she took refuge with Doctor Hodges, but I am sure he can tell you where she is. One thing more," continued the dying man, fixing his glazing eyes on Leonard. "Go to Newgate—to—to a prisoner there—an incendiary—and obtain a document of him. Tell him, with my dying breath I charged you to do this. It will enable you to act as I have directed. Promise me you will go. Promise me you will fulfil my injunctions."
"I do," replied Leonard.
"Enough," rejoined Argentine. "May you be happy with Isabella." And removing his hand from his side, a copious effusion of blood followed, and, sinking backwards, he expired.