The slow night waned. He woke sometimes, but soon dozed off again.
The two watched by him till the dawn. It brought a still gray 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."
A faint _Amen_ came from the marquis.
"Thou didst send him into the world: help him out of it. O God!
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 cleansest 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 God-brother, blessed to all ages.
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