Stretched on a small bed lay the poor erring boy, white and death-like, already in the shadow of death. Beside him knelt Stella, her hand clasping his, her face lying beside his. He looked up as Leycester entered, and raised a thin white hand to beckon him near. Instinctively Leycester knelt beside him. "You want to see me, Frank?" The boy raised his eyelids heavily, and seemed to make a great struggle for strength. "Leycester," he said, "I--I have something to give you. You--you will understand what it means. It was the charm that bound her to him. I have broken it--broken it! It was for my sake she did it, for mine! I did not know it till to-night. Take it, Leycester," and slowly he drew from his breast the forged paper. Leycester took it, deeming the boy delirious, and Frank seemed to read his thought. "You will understand," he panted. "I--I--forged it, and he knew it, and held the knowledge and the paper over her head. You saved my life, Leycester: I give you something better than life, Leycester; I give you--her--Stella!" His lips quivered, and he seemed sinking; but he made a last effort. "I--I am dying, Leycester. I am glad, very, very glad. I don't wish to live. It is better that I should die!" "Frank!" broke from Stella's white lips. "Don't cry, Stella. While I lived he--he would have held you bound. Now I am dying----" Then his voice failed and his eyes closed, but they saw his lips move, and Stella, bending over him, heard the words--"Forgive, forgive!" With a loud cry she caught him in her arms, but he had passed away, even beyond her love, and the next moment she fell fainting, still holding him to her bosom, as a mother holds her child. An hour afterward Leycester was pacing the beach, his arms folded across his breast, his head bent, a storm of conflicting emotions raging within. The boy had spoken truly. The time had come when he understood fully the lad's words. He had gleaned much from the forged bill, which, all torn and stained, lay hidden in his pocket; but the full meaning of the mystery had been conveyed to him by the delirious words of Stella, who lay in a high fever. He had just left her, and was now waiting for the doctor, waiting for his verdict--life or death. Life or death! He had often heard, often used the words, but never until this moment knew their import. Presently the doctor joined him, and Leycester uttered the one word: "Well?" "She will live," he said. Leycester raised his head and drew a long breath. The doctor continued: "Yes, I think I may say she will pull through. I shall know more to-morrow. You see, she has undergone a severe strain; I do not allude to the tragic incidents of the evening; those in themselves are sufficient to try a young girl; but she has been laboring under extreme nervous pressure for months past." Leycester groaned.