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 shining, 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.
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