He slipped, by their weight, from her arms and fell into the chair. She

sank on to her knees, her arms still round him, and stroked and

caressed his withered hand that twitched and shook; and to her horror

his stony eyes grew more vacant, his jaw dropped, and he sank still

lower in the chair. "Jessie! Jason!" she called, and they rushed in.

For a space they stood aghast and unhelpful from fright, then Jason

tried to lift his master from the heap into which he had collapsed. The

old man's eyes closed, he straggled for breath, and when he had gained

it, he looked from one to the other with a smile, a senile smile, which

added to Ida's grief and terror.

"It's all right!" he whispered, huskily, pantingly. "It's all right;

they don't know. They don't guess!" Then his manner changed to one of

intense alarm and dismay. "Lost! Lost!" he gasped. "I'm ruined, rained!

Herondale has gone, gone--all is gone! My poor child--Ida!"

"Father!" broke from Ida's white lips. "Father, I am here. Look at me,

speak to me. I am here--everything is not lost. I am here, and all is

well."

His lips twisted into a smile, a smile of cunning, almost of glee; then

he groaned, and the cry rose again: "I can't remember--all is lost! Ruined! My poor child! Have pity on my

child!"

As she clung to him, supporting him as she clung, she felt a shudder

run through him, and he fell a lifeless heap upon her shoulder.

The minutes--were they minutes or years?--passed, and were broken into

fragments by a cry from Jessie.

"Miss Ida! Miss Ida! He's--the master's dead!'"

Ida raised her father's head from her shoulder and looked into his

face, and knew that the girl had spoken the truth.

He was dead. She had lost both father and lover in one day!




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