Live, and in a few short weeks
Grace may be your nurse. Take more brandy, and then I'll go for
assistance."
"No, Graham, no. Don't leave me. Life is ebbing again. Ah, ah!
farewell--true friend. Un--bounded love--Grace. Commit--her--your
care!"
There was a convulsive shudder and the noble form was still.
Graham knelt over him for a few moments in silent horror. Then he tore
open Hilland's vest and placed his hand over his heart. It was
motionless. His hand, as he withdrew it, was bathed in blood. He
poured brandy into the open lips, but the powerful stimulant was
without effect. The awful truth overwhelmed him.
Hilland was dead.
He sat down, lifted his friend up against his breast, and hung over
him with short, dry sobs--with a grief far beyond tears, careless,
reckless of his own safety.
The bushes near him were parted, and a sweet girlish face, full of
fear, wonder, and pity, looked upon him. The interpretation of the
scene was but too evident, and tears gushed from the young girl's
eyes.
"Oh, sir," she began in a low, faltering voice.
The mourner paid no heed.
"Please, sir," she cried, "do not grieve so.
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