“It had been sweet, Justin,” sighed Sir Richard, smiling upon his adopted son, and putting forth an unsteady hand to stroke the white, drawn face. “It had been sweet. It is sweet to hear that you so proposed.” A shudder convulsed him. He sank back coughing, and there was froth and blood on his lips. Reverently Justin wiped them, and signed for the cordial to Bentley, who stood, numbed, in the background. “It is the end,” said Sir Richard feebly. “God has been good to me beyond my deserts, and this is a crowning mercy. Consider, Justin, it might have been the gibbet and a crowd--instead of this snug bed, and you and Bentley here--just two good friends.” Bentley, losing all self-control at this mention of himself, sank weeping to his knees. Sir Richard put out a hand, and touched his head. “You will serve Mr. Caryll, Bentley. You'll find him a good master if you are as good a servant to him as you have been to me.” Then suddenly he made the quick movement of one who bethinks himself of something. He waved Bentley away. “There is a case in the drawer yonder,” he said, when the servant was beyond earshot. “It contains papers that concern you--certificates of your birth and of your mothers death. I brought them with me as proofs of your identity, against the time when the hour of vengeance upon Ostermore should strike. They twill serve no purpose now. Burn them. They are best destroyed.” Mr. Caryll nodded understanding, and on Sir Richard's part there followed another fight for breath, another attack of coughing, during which Bentley instinctively approached again. When the paroxysm was past, Sir Richard turned once more to Justin, who was holding him in his arms, upright, to ease his breathing. “Be good to Bentley,” he murmured, his voice very faint and exhausted now. “You are my heir, Justin. All that I have--I set all in order ere I left Paris. It--it is growing dark. You have not snuffed the candles, Bentley. They are burning very low.” Suddenly he started forward, held as he was in Justin's arms. He half-raised his arms, holding out his hands toward the foot of the bed. His eyes dilated; the expression of his livid face grew first surprised, then joyous--beatific. “Antoinette!” he cried in a loud voice. “Antoi--” And thus, abruptly, but in great happiness, he passed. CHAPTER XVII. AMID THE GRAVES What time Sir Richard had been dying in the inner room, Mr. Green and two of his acolytes had improved the occasion by making a thorough search in Sir Richard's writing-table and a thorough investigation of every scrap of paper found there. From which you will understand how much Mr. Green was a gentleman who set business above every other consideration. The man who had shot Sir Richard had been ordered by Mr. Green to take himself off, and had been urged to go down on his knees, for once in a way, and pray Heaven that his rashness might not bring him to the gallows as he so richly deserved.