The pleading face touched the young Englishman’s heart. “I only did my duty,” he muttered, “but I’m sorry about him. Remember you are my prisoner, if I leave you for a time, may I trust you to remain here?” Robert nodded, and Morley strode away. When he had passed from sight Shirtliffe bent his head over the whitening face upon his knee. Kisses and tears he showered upon it, and the touch brought consciousness back to the dying man. “Lad,” he whispered, and Robert saw that he still mistook him for Morley; “go to Plymouth and find Debby Mason. Tell her that her father died—like—a—soldier. Tell her only that. Don’t let—her—know—that I failed—I tried for—her sake—but I failed. I always failed. Then there was”—the weak voice trembled, “something I wanted to tell her, but I can’t remember all. Her mother had a twin sister, as like as you—and—my girl! It is so strange, so strange, where is that other lad?” Shirtliffe almost dropped the heavy head upon his arm. “Kiss me! Kiss me!” he sobbed, “oh! do not leave me!” But Mason’s life blood was gushing out and he was going fast. “Quick,” he gasped, “when I am dead, they will give Debby a chance—they always said if I—were out of the way they would look out for Deb and her mother—I’ll soon be out of the way”—a wan smile flitted over the ghastly face; “there’s no one now, but Deb.” The evening shades were beginning to close in the dull March day, and in the gloom the dying man raised a last look to the face so near his own. For one moment near things lost their hold upon him; he was back in the old life with his neglected little girl. “Debby, child, I’ve been drinking again, to—morrow I’ll tell you the story. Kiss father, Deb, and good night!” The rigid upturned face seemed the only thing in God’s universe to the boy looking down upon it. “Good night!” he sobbed, kissing the icy lips—“good night, good night!” The words died away on the chill wind. Robert stood up and turned his face toward the direction Morley had taken, “and now I must wait,” he sighed. CHAPTER V. WHILE MOLLY WAITED, HE LISTENED. Shirtliffe waited beside the road, until the pain in his hand turned him sick, but Morley came not. Then a strange fear crept into his numb heart. Suppose he should faint and be found unconscious by either friend or foe! The thought made him dizzy. He must hide. If he were conscious when Morley returned he could come out to meet him, if not—well in that case he were better out of sight. Painfully and slowly he clambered up the embankment and crouched behind a rock hidden among underbrush. Then he drew forth his hand to examine the wound. One look, and he lay as dead to sight and hearing as the man by the roadside below. The cutting winds of the March evening swept o’er him. Morley returned, and not seeing his prisoner gave a sneering smile and hurried away. Still, Robert lay among the bushes heeding not.