The words of the dying man ran on--a feeble, murmuring stream. "Christian! he is alive--he is safe! No evil has come upon them! Tell me again--tell me again! They do not curse me--they forgive the miserable man who has made them exiles? It is over now, Christian. All your anguish--all your vigils: their disgrace and banishment--it is over now. God knows, who has visited me with His mercy and His light, why this desolation has fallen upon you all for my sin. I have been a coward. Christian, Christian! when they are home in their joyous household--when they have forgotten all their grief and dishonor, when they are tranquil and at rest--they will never name my name; my memory will be a thing of shame and fear: they will shrink from me in my grave." The thin hands met in silent appeal. There was a wistful, deprecating glance thrown upon Anne and Christian. "Patrick," said Christian, "can _we_ ever shrink from you, who have been willing, for your sake, to endure the hardest calamity that could be thrown upon man? Can _they_ forget your name, who have lost their own for your sake, and never murmured? Patrick! look upon his sister. She has come to us in our sorest trouble; she has clung to us with her tenderest service, as if we had blessed him, and not blighted. Take your comfort from her. As for me, my labor is over. I will live to see Marion. I must, if it be the Lord's will--but for forgetfulness, or shame, or shrinking, ye never thought of me!" Anne stood by the bedside. The eyes of the dying man, so intensely blue, and strangely clear, were shining wistfully upon her. She could not find words to speak to him. "Mind them of me," said Patrick Lillie, faintly. "Tell them, that if they have suffered pain for me, they never can know what agony, bitterer than death, I have endured within this desolate house. Bid them mind me as I was, in yon bright, far away time, that I have been dwelling in again this day. Tell them, the Lord has given me back my hope, that He gave me first in my youth. Tell them, I am in His hand, who never loses the feeblest of His flock. Tell them--" He was exhausted--the breath came in painful grasps. "Do not fear," said Anne, gently. "We will remember you in all tenderness, with sorrow and with reverence. I will answer for Norman." "For Norman!" said the dying man. "All blessings on the name that I have not dared to say for years! The blessing of my God upon him, who has been separated from his brethren. Norman! Marion! They have suffered in exile and in grief for me. Tell them, that with my last breath, I bade God bless them--God bless them! They have done as my Lord did--they have suffered for the guilty--and He will acknowledge His own." There was a pause. His breath came painfully. The hectic on his cheek flushed deeper. Christian made a gesture with her hand to Anne, dismissing her. He saw it.