He bent and asked Sir Douglas if there was anything he specially wanted; but the rigid lips did not move--only the eyes seemed to plead more than before. The earl’s presence appeared to give him pleasure, for, if Lord Court moved, the thin, trembling hand went out toward him, and Murray construed this into a wish for his friend to remain. An hour passed without change, and the earl was thinking of sending a message to Margery, explanatory of his long absence, when the door opened, and the sick man’s face suddenly altered. He made a feeble attempt to rise, his hands moved restlessly to and fro, and his lips parted to speak, as a young man bent over his couch. It was Stuart Crosbie. “Cousin,” he said, hurriedly, with real pain on his face and in his voice, “my dear cousin, oh, why did you not send for me before?” Then, turning to the servant, he added: “Murray, you should have let me know! Six weeks ill, and I thought him in Australia! It has distressed me more than I can say.” “Sir Douglas would not let me write, sir,” replied Murray, as he put the brandy to the invalid’s lips. “Lord Court came in to-day, and he’s the first person as has been.” “It was a shock to me, too, Mr. Crosbie,” remarked the earl. “Gerant and I have been old friends for years. I am heartily glad you have come.” “You are very kind,” said Stuart, putting out his hand; “but cannot he have something to give him strength?” Then, turning to the invalid, he added: “You want to speak to me, cousin?” He knelt down by the bedside as he spoke, and looked eagerly into the sick man’s face. “Sir Douglas has tried to speak, but he cannot, Mr. Stuart--yet.” “Hush!” interrupted Stuart, putting up his hand--the pale lips were moving. “You--will--not forget----” “My promise?” finished Stuart, gently. “No; everything you wish shall be done.” Sir Douglas fixed his eyes on Lord Court, and a faint sound came from his lips. The earl bent his head the better to hear. “I cannot hear,” he murmured sadly to Stuart. “Give me the brandy, Murray,” said Stuart. “Come, that is right; we shall have you well and hearty soon, cousin,” he added to the sick man. “Do not distress yourself; I will do all I promised.” Sir Douglas looked at him earnestly, as if his dark eyes would read his inmost heart. Then a change came over his face, and he smiled faintly. His head was raised for a minute from the pillow, and a whisper fell on their anxious ears: “Gladys--wife--it--has--come--to--Margery--little--Mar--gery--thank-- Heaven!” The voice died away, a convulsive tremor seized the heavy eyelids, which closed slowly over the dark eyes, glazed with a film now, the head sank back, and with a sigh the spirit of Douglas Gerant fled from its earthly abode.