thing on his
face that was not known to himself, nor could be visible to any other
man--read it as though it were a writing.

So strange was this scrutiny, so meaningless and yet so full of a
meaning which he could not grasp, that Leonard shrank beneath it. He
spoke to his brother, but no answer came,--only the great hollow eyes
read on in that book which was printed upon his face; that book, sealed
to him, but to the dying man an open writing.

The sight of the act of death is always terrible; it is terrible to
watch the latest wax and ebb of life, and with the intelligence to
comprehend that these flickerings, this coming and this going, these
sinkings and these last recoveries are the trial flights of the
animating and eternal principle--call it soul or what you will--before
it trusts itself afar. Still more terrible is it under circumstances of
physical and mental desolation such as those present to Leonard Outram
in that hour.

But he had looked on death before, on death in many dreadful shapes, and
yet he had never been so much afraid. What was it that his brother,
or the spirit of his brother, read in his face? What learning had he
gathered in that sleep of his, the last before the last? He could not
tell--now he longed to know, now he was glad not to know, and now he
strove to overcome his fears.

"My nerves are shattered," he said to himself. "He is dying. How shall I
bear to see him die?"

A gust of wind shook the hut, rending the thatch apart, and through the
rent a little jet of rain fell upon his brother's forehead and ran down
his pallid cheeks like tears. Then the strange understanding look passed
from the wide eyes, and once more they became human, and the lips were
opened.

"Water," they murmured.

Leonard gave him to drink, with one hand holding the pannikin to his
brother's mouth and with the other supporting the dying head. Twice he
gulped at it, then with a brusque motion of his wasted arm he knocked
the cup aside, spilling the water on the earthen floor.

"Leonard," he said, "you will succeed."

"Succeed in what, Tom?"

"You will get the money and Outram--and found the family afresh--but you
will not do it alone. _A woman will help you_."

Then his mind wandered a little and he muttered, "How is Jane? Have you
heard from Jane?" or some such words.

At the mention of this name Leonard's face softened, then once more grew
hard and anxious.

"I have not heard of Jane for years, old f