‘Do not talk so,’ cried Madeline, kissing the hot hand and sobbing wildly. ‘You will get well! We will be so happy together.’ ‘Don’t cry, Madeline! I’m not afraid to die, and after all I’m an old fogey, and the world has left me far behind. I used to think I should live to regenerate the drama. Ah, well! that dream is over. I shan’t even finish “Semiramis,” the best thing I ever wrote; but you’ll give the first two acts and the scenario to Eugene Aram when I am gone.’ He paused, and Madeline cried between her sobs-- ‘If you die, I shall die too! You are my only friend.’ ‘You mustn’t talk like that, my dear. You have a great future before you, and perhaps--who knows?--I shall be able to see it from afar off. If the dead can watch over those they love, I shall still take care of you--ah, yes!--and if there’s a heaven as the preachers say, I shall meet poor Fred your father there, and we shall both look down and bless you.’ ‘I have no father but you! You are all the world to me! You will not die!’ But White continued quietly, as if pursuing his own thoughts-- ‘And while dear Forster lives you will not be without a friend; many a time has he lightened my load, and I wish you’d let him help you to carry yours. If you would promise me to become his wife, I should be very happy.’ ‘I cannot! You know I cannot!’ As she uttered the words, he became conscious of a movement in the room, and looking round saw Forster standing at the foot of the bed. ‘Is that you, Forster?’ asked White, faintly. ‘Come here, I wish to speak to you;’ and he added when Forster had passed round and stood looking down sadly upon him. ‘You’ll be kind to Madeline, old fellow, after----’ And he turned his face on the pillow to hide his tears. Forster did not reply in words, but with tears glistening on his own cheeks laid his hand softly on the sick man’s shoulder. Presently White looked round, and, fixing his great dim eyes on Madeline’s face, whispered-- ‘My dear! Will you go--only a little while? I wish to speak to Forster.’ She bent over the bed and kissed him tenderly on the forehead; then with a sob as if her heart was breaking she left the room. She went into the next chamber, a small room overlooking the garden, and, sitting at the window, looked out through streaming tears. Many minutes passed, and at last, anxious and impatient, she rose to return to her post. As she did so, Forster appeared at the door and beckoned. ‘Will you come now?’ he whispered. ‘He is asking for you.’ She stepped softly in, and approached the bedside. With a smile of ineffable love and tenderness the dying man turned his face up to hers and, reaching out his tremulous hands, gave one to her, the other to Forster; then he said in a voice so indistinct that they had to stoop their heads to catch the word-- ‘I have spoken to Forster... he will take care of of you, my dear... a good fellow... always my best friend, God bless him... now I can go in peace.’