"My poor boy. I didn't know he had so many friends," said his father. "God forgive me, I used to think he wasted his time on fads." And odd people came also. Trainers, jockeys, and horse-dealers rubbed shoulders on the doorsteps with collectors of old furniture, missionaries, electioneering agents, ladies of the chorus, of the _corps de ballet_, shabby-genteel individuals of both sexes out of work, and the like; each had his degree of regret and an anecdote. "He was always very kind to me," said this one, that one, and the other. Bradwyn, noting some of these unusual visitors, observed that Reckage had a knack of pleasing the lower classes and half-educated persons generally. He heard a Bible-reader say to the footman: "_Take ye heed, watch and pray; for ye know not when the time is!_" and he shuddered at this exhibition of bad taste. Lord Garrow had been unremitting in his personal inquiries, but Sara did not come till she received the following from Orange-- "He is conscious, and he asks to see you." She reached the room as the Bishop of Hadley was coming out; tears were in his eyes and he did not notice the young lady who glided past him as lightly as a shadow. Poor Reckage recognised her step, however, and pulled the sheet half over his face lest she should be startled at its harsh disfigurements. She threw off her hat and veil and fell on her knees by the side of his bed. "Speak to me, Beauclerk, speak to me; it is I--Sara." "I know you," he whispered; "you are the one I loved the best. But I haven't been true to anybody. I only wish to goodness I had another chance. I'd be different--I'd show 'em ... I never meant ..." he took her hand, her beautiful, tapering hand loaded with sapphires ... "like your eyes, old girl ... don't cry ... and I say, I posted that ... letter after all ... to please you. Are you ... pleased?" He spoke no more. * * * * *