Hark! a footstep. Through the gloom a man came toward her with uncovered head, mutely respectful. He bore a note which she deciphered hurriedly in the moonlight. Oh, heavens! what cruel, cruel words to be signed with her lover’s name! “Edith, I am dying, they tell me. Will you come to me with Eustace? GUY.” _PART IV._ Oh, linger by my side to-night, The hour will soon be past When I shall turn and gaze again To look on thee my last. --_Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller._ The shaded night-lamp glimmered softly in the large, oak-paneled room where the recumbent form of a man lay extended on a large, old-fashioned bed. Heavy curtains of crimson damask were pushed back over the gilded canopy, and brought out in pale relief the white, pain-drawn face of the sufferer. The physician stood by with finger on the sick man’s wrist. An old man and his elderly wife were the only other occupants of the room. Presently the door swung lightly ajar, and the faint light shone on the faces of Lady Edith and her brother as they crossed the room to the bedside. Poor Edith! She threw out her hands with a smothered moan of despair, and the heavy cloak fell from her shoulders, revealing her exquisite dinner gown of white lace. Priceless pearls gleamed on her neck, and her wealth of golden ringlets fell around her in sad beauty as she bent over her lover. “Edith, dear Edith, I am glad you have come in time,” he whispered, faintly. “Tell her, Uncle Jamie, before it is too late. But place her chair close by my side. Let me see her now all the while until the last.” They obeyed his wish, and Edith sitting still, with her hand clasped in the weak one of her lover, listened to a story told in the quivering voice of the old man--a story of wrong and treachery to the dead and to the living--a wrong done to a brother’s orphan heir and repented of, alas! too late. “I deserted the infant boy--put him in a foundling asylum without a name. His father had been a wealthy man, and I wanted the child’s fortune. So I announced that the little Douglas was dead, and there being no near relatives to inquire into its fate, my scheme succeeded well. My wife and I have enjoyed our ill-gotten gains for twenty-five years, but we always kept cognizant of my nephew’s whereabouts, meaning when we died to right the cruel wrong we had done to the orphan boy. Alas, alas!” moaned the old man in futile sorrow. “Leave us now,” said the weak voice from the bed, and the old man moved away, leaving Edith alone by the side of the beloved one drifting away from her so swiftly out on the shoreless waters of Eternity. She bent over him, brushing the dark curls back from his white brow, a world of love in her tender eyes. The clasp of his hand tightened on hers, and he murmured: