"I recollect him well--poor old Connor. No, not a dog now. I want you to--just raise me a bit, Algy, will you?--a little bit: I am scarcely strong enough to--that's it. Ah, Algy, old fellow, how often in the long years that we have been chums have you lifted this poor wretched frame in your strong arms!" It was a trial for a man of Algy Barford's big heart; but he made head against it even then, and said in a voice harder and drier than usual from the struggle, "How often have I brought my bemuddled old brains for you to take them out and pick them to pieces and clean them, and put them back into my head in a state to be of some use to me!--that's the question, dear old boy. How often have you supplied the match to light the tow inside my head--Ive got deuced little outside now--and sent me away with some idea of what I ought to do when I was in a deuce of a knot! Why, I recollect once when Lionel and I--what is it, dear old boy?" "You remind me--the mention of that name--I want to say something to you Algy, which oddly enough had--just reach me that bottle, Algy; thanks!--which--" "Rest a minute, dear old boy; rest. You've been exerting yourself too much." "No; I'm better now--only faint for a minute. What was I saying?--O, about Lionel. You recollect a letter which--" his voice was growing again so faint that Algy took up the sentence. "Which I brought to you; a letter from Lionel, after he had, you know, dear old boy--board ship and that kind of thing?" "Yes, that is the letter I mean. You--you knew its contents, Algy?" "Well, Arthur, I think I did--I--you know Lionel was very fond of me, and--used to be about with him, you know, and that kind of thing--" "You knew his--his wife?" "Wife, Gad, did he say?--Jove! Knew you were--dear me!--charming person--lady. Very beautiful--great friend of Lionel's; but not his wife, dear old boy--somebody else's wife." "Somebody else's wife?" "Yes; wonderful story. Ive wanted to tell you, and, most extraordinary thing, something always interrupted. Friend of yours too; tall woman red hair, violet eyes--wife of painter-man--Good God, Arthur!" Well might he start; for Lord Caterham threw his hands wildly above his head, then let them fall helplessly by his side. By the time Algy Barford had sprung to his chair, and passed his arms around him, the dying man's head had drooped on to his right shoulder, and his eyes were glazing fast. "Arthur! dear Arthur! one instant! Let me call for help." "No, Algy; leave us so; no one else. Only one who could--and she--better not--bless her! better not. Take my hand, Algy, old friend--tried, trusted, dear old friend--always thoughtful, always affectionate--God bless you--Algy! Yes, kiss my forehead again. Ah, so happy! where the wicked cease from troubling and the--Yes, Lord, with me abide, with me abide!--the darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!"