"It's all over now," he groaned, "so better end it all. I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead." "But, Harry, dear," she whispered, trembling now as much as he, "tell me what to do." "I can't now," he said; "I'm too weak and broken. All this has been so maddening that I'm like some poor wretch half-killed by drink. It's too late now." "No, no, Harry, dear. It shall be our secret then. Up, and be a man, my brave, true brother, and you shall go and redeem yourself. Yes, I'll suffer it all hopefully, for the future shall make amends, dear. You shall go across to France, and I will study my father's comfort, and pray nightly for you." "Too late," he moaned--"too late!" She looked at him wildly. The long strain upon his nerves had been too great, and he was white as a sheet, and shaking violently. "Harry, dear, tell me what to do." "Let them take me," he said weakly. "It's of no use." "Hush?" she said, full now of a wild desire to save him from disgrace and to aid him in his efforts to redeem the past. "Let me think. Yes; you want money." Full of the recollection of his former appeal, she took out her keys, opened a drawer, while he half knelt, half crouched upon the carpet. She had not much there, and, whispering to him to wait, she left the room, locking him in, and ran up to her chamber. Harry started as he heard the snap made by the lock; but he subsided again in a helpless state, and with the disease that had been hanging about waiting to make its grand attack, gradually sapping its way. In five minutes Louise was back. "I have not much money," she whispered hastily; "but here are my watch, two chains, and all the jewels I have, dear. They are worth a great deal." "Too late!" he moaned as he gazed up at her piteously, and for the moment he was delirious, as a sudden flush of fever suffused his cheeks. "It is not too late," she said firmly. "Take them. Now tell me what next to do." "What next?" he said vacantly. "Yes. You must not stay here. My father may return at any time. Brother--Harry--shall I get you some clothes?" "No--no," he said mournfully. "I shall want no more clothes." "Harry!" she cried, taking his face between her hands, and drawing it round so that the light fell upon it; "are you ill?" "Ill? yes," he said feebly. "I've felt it before--in the wet cave-- fever, I suppose. Lou, dear, is it very hard to die?" "Oh, what shall I do?" cried the agitated girl, half frantic now. "Harry, you are not very ill?" "Only sometimes," he said slowly, as he looked round. "I seem to lose my head a bit, and then something seems to hold me back." "Harry!" "Yes," he cried, starting up; "who called? You, Louy, money--give me some money." "I gave you all I had, dear, and my jewels." "Yes, I forgot," he said huskily, as in a moment his whole manner had changed, and with feverish energy he felt for the trinkets she had given him.