Part 101 (1/2)

”No, my lord.” The lids fell again, softly, slowly. ”Be good to her, Malcolm,” he murmured.

”I wull, my lord,” said Malcolm solemnly.

Then the eyes opened and looked at him; something grew in them-- a light as of love, and drew up after it a tear; but the lips said nothing. The eyelids fell again, and in a minute more, Malcolm knew by his breathing that he slept.

The slow night waned. He woke sometimes, but soon dozed off again.

The two watched by him till the dawn. It brought a still grey morning, without a breath of wind, and warm for the season. The marquis appeared a little revived, but was hardly able to speak.

Mostly by signs he made Malcolm understand that he wanted Mr Graham, but that some one else must go for him. Mrs Courthope went!

As soon as she was out of the room, he lifted his hand with effort, laid feeble hold on Malcolm's jacket, and drawing him down, kissed him on the forehead. Malcolm burst into tears, and sank weeping by the bedside.

Mr Graham entering a little after, and seeing Malcolm on his knees, knelt also, and broke into a prayer.

”O blessed Father!” he said, ”who knowest this thing, so strange to us, which we call death, breathe more life into the heart of thy dying son, that in the power of life he may front death. O Lord Christ, who diedst thyself, and in thyself knowest it all, heal this man in his sore need--heal him with strength to die.”

Came a faint Amen from the marquis.

”Thou didst send him into the world: help him out of it. O G.o.d, we belong to thee utterly. We dying men are thy children, O living Father! Thou art such a father, that thou takest our sins from us and throwest them behind thy back. Thou cleanest our souls, as thy Son did wash our feet. We hold our hearts up to thee: make them what they must be, O Love, O Life of men, O Heart of hearts! Give thy dying child courage, and hope, and peace--the peace of him who overcame all the terrors of humanity, even death itself, and liveth for evermore, sitting at thy right hand, our G.o.d brother, blessed to all ages--amen.”

”Amen!” murmured the marquis, and slowly lifting his hand from the coverlid, he laid it on the head of Malcolm, who did not know it was the hand of his father, blessing him ere he died.

”Be good to her,” said the marquis once more. But Malcolm could not answer for weeping, and the marquis was not satisfied. Gathering all his force he said again, ”Be good to her.”

”I wull, I wull,” burst from Malcolm in sobs, and he wailed aloud.

The day wore on, and the afternoon came. Still Lady Florimel had not arrived, and still the marquis lingered.

As the gloom of the twilight was deepening into the early darkness of the winter night, he opened wide his eyes, and was evidently listening. Malcolm could hear nothing; but the light in his master's face grew, and the strain of his listening diminished. At length Malcolm became aware of the sound of wheels, which came rapidly nearer, till at last the carriage swung up to the hall door. A moment, and Lady Florimel was flitting across the room.

”Papa! papa!” she cried, and, throwing her arm over him, laid her cheek to his.

The marquis could not return her embrace; he could only receive her into the depths of his s.h.i.+ning tearful eyes.

”Flory!” he murmured, ”I'm going away. I'm going--I've got--to make an--apology. Malcolm, be good--”

The sentence remained unfinished. The light paled from his countenance --he had to carry it with him. He was dead.

Lady Florimel gave a loud cry. Mrs Courthope ran to her a.s.sistance.

”My lady's in a dead faint!” she whispered, and left the room to get help.

Malcolm lifted Lady Florimel in his great arms, and bore her tenderly to her own apartment. There he left her to the care of her women, and returned to the chamber of death.

Meantime Mr Graham and Mr Soutar had come. When Malcolm re-entered, the schoolmaster took him kindly by the arm and said:

”Malcolm, there can be neither place nor moment fitter for the solemn communication I am commissioned to make to you: I have, as in the presence of your dead father, to inform you that you are now Marquis of Lossie; and G.o.d forbid you should be less worthy as marquis than you have been as fisherman!”

Malcolm stood stupefied. For a while he seemed to himself to be turning over in his mind something he had heard read from a book, with a nebulous notion of being somehow concerned in it. The thought of his father cleared his brain. He ran to the dead body, kissed its lips, as he had once kissed the forehead of another, and falling on his knees, wept, he knew not for what. Presently, however, he recovered himself, rose, and, rejoining the two men, said ”Gentlemen, hoo mony kens this turn o' things?”

”None but Mr Morrison, Mrs Catanach, and ourselves--so far as I know,” answered Mr Soutar.

”And Miss Horn,” added Mr Graham. ”She first brought out the truth of it, and ought to be the first to know of your recognition by your father.”