"Why, Mitsos, Mitsos," he said, "what is this? We are behaving as but poor weak folk--I, whom the merciful God is taking, and you, who He wills shall live and go on with the work we have begun. A man's life is but short, but, God knows, mine has been partly very sweet; and out of what was bitter He has given us a wonderful victory. From Corinth to Maina, little one, a free people thanks Him. But that is not all. From Thermopylæ to Corinth must those thanks go up, and it is you, first among all the first, for whom that work is waiting. Promise me, little one, you will not fail. For this was the oath you swore, and already, oh, my dearest lad, you have kept it well." "I promise, oh, I promise," sobbed Mitsos; "but what am I without you?" "God is with you, little Mitsos," said Nicholas, "and He will be with you, as He has been with you till now. Tell me, is Ypsilanti coming back here?" "He is on his way, and Germanos with him." Nicholas frowned and raised his voice a little. "I will not die with a lie on my lips," he said. "He is a bad man; I forgive him not, and see that you do not trust him." "Oh, uncle," said Mitsos; "what does it matter now? Think of him not at all, then. This is no time for little things." Nicholas lay silent a moment, still stroking Mitsos' hair. "After all, what does it matter?" he said. "The man has failed; that is enough. He shall not poison these few minutes. Oh yes, I forgive him, little one. I do really; tell him so when he comes. If he were here I would take his hand. But"--and a faint smile came round his mouth--"do not trust him too far, all the same." His face was growing very white and tired in the pale gray morning before the dawn, and Mitsos, at his request, gave him water and put out the lamp. "There is but little more to say," he whispered, "and it is a selfish thing; yet, as you love me, I think you will hear it gladly. Little Mitsos, I am happier than the kings of the earth. I am dying, but dying in the shout of victory. Oh, I am happy on this morning. But, poor lad, whom I love so, it is hard--" His face flushed suddenly. "Victory! freedom!" he said, raising his voice again with tremulous excitement; "that is the singing bird in my heart, that and you and the clan, and Catharine and the little one. Ah! merciful God, but I am a happy man. Where is Petrobey? Call him in, him and the dear clan. Kiss me first and for the last time, and then bring them all in, as many as can stand in the room." Mitsos hurried out to fetch them, and found Petrobey's room full of men waiting for news from the sick bed, watching faithfully through the night, and he beckoned them silently up. The sun had just risen, and the first ray clean and bright fell full on the bed where the dying man lay. By an effort he raised himself on his elbow, and looked at them with bright, shining eyes as they trooped in. At that sudden movement his wound broke out afresh, and a great gush of blood poured down.