I could not speak, but involuntarily I put out my hand and took his leaden one and held it. He scowled at me, and then the words came out, as if in spite of himself-- "She--if she had married me, who knows what might--But she married Danvers. She called her second son Ralph. My first name is Ralph." Then, with a sudden change of tone, pulling away his hand, "There! now you know all about it! Edifying, isn't it? These death-bed scenes always have an element of interest, haven't they? _Good_-evening"--ringing the bell at his elbow--"I can't say I hope we shall meet again. It would be impolite. No, don't let me keep you. Good-bye again." "Good-bye, Sir John," I said, taking his impatient hand and shaking it gently; "God bless you." "Thankee," grinned the old man, with a sardonic chuckle; "if anything could do me good that will, I'm sure. Good-bye." * * * * * As I breakfasted next morning, previously to my departure, I could not help reflecting on the different position in which I was now returning to England, as a colonel on long leave, to that in which I had left it many--I do not care to think how many--years ago, the youngest ensign in the regiment. It was curious to remember that in my youth I had always been considered the fool of the family; most unjustly so considered when I look back at my quick promotion owing to casualties, and at my long and prosperous career in India, which I cannot but regard as the result of high principles and abilities, to say the least of it, of not the meanest order. On the point of returning to England, the trust Sir John had with his usual shrewdness reposed in me was an additional proof, if proof were needed, of the confidence I had inspired in him--a confidence which seemed to have ripened suddenly at the end of his life, after many years of hardly concealed mockery and derision. Just as I was finishing my reflections and my breakfast, Dickson, one of the last joined subalterns, came in. "This is very awful," he said, so gravely that I turned to look at him. "What is awful?" "Don't you know?" he replied. "Haven't you heard about--Sir John--last night?" "Dead?" I asked. He nodded; and then he said-- "Murdered in the night! Cathcart heard a noise and went in, and stumbled over him on the floor. As he came in he saw the lamp knocked over, and a figure rush out through the veranda. The moon was bright, and he saw a man run across a clear space in the moonlight--a tall, slightly built man in native dress, but not a native, Cathcart said; that he would take his oath on, by his build. He roused the house, but the man got clean off, of course." "And Sir John?"