he said, in answer to Norine's agonized
asking look; "it is doubtful whether he will return to consciousness at
all. There is concussion of the brain, and several internal
injuries--any one enough to prove his death. Mortal aid is unavailing
here."

Dying! Yes, even to Norine's own inexperienced eyes the dreadful seal
was yonder on the face among the pillows. His wife's arm encircled his
neck, her face was hidden on his bosom, a dull, dumb, moaning sound
coming from her lips. He lay there rigid--as if dead already--all
unconscious of that last agonized embrace of love, and forgiveness, and
remorse.

The doctor left the room, waiting without in case his services should be
needed. Norine dispatched a messenger to Mr. Gilbert, another for a
clergyman. He might return to reason, if only for a moment before the
spirit passed away.

"He cannot--he _cannot_ die like this!" she cried out, wringing her
hands in her pain. "It is too dreadful!"

The doctor shook his head.

"Dreadful indeed. But 'the way of the transgressor is hard.' He will
never speak on earth again."

Richard Gilbert came, almost as pale as the pale remorseful woman who
met him. It was the physician who encountered and told him the story
first. He entered the room. Norine stood leaning against the foot of the
bed. Helen still knelt, holding her dying husband in her arms, her face
still hidden on his breast. One look told him that the awful change was
already at hand.

And so, with the three he had wronged most on earth around him, Laurence
Thorndyke lay dying. Out of the hearts of the three all memory of those
wrongs had gone, only a great awe and sorrow left. For Norine, as she
stood there, the old days came back--the days that had been the most
blessed of her life, when she had given him her whole heart, and fancied
she had won his in return. Old thoughts, old memories returned, until
her heart was full to breaking; and she hid her face in her hands, with
sobs almost as bitter as the wife's own.

The moments wore on--profound silence reigned through the house. Once
doctor and clergyman stole in together, glanced at the prostrate man,
glanced at each other, and drew back. Priest and physician were alike
powerless here. The creeping shadow that goes before was upon that
ghastly face already. Death was in the midst of them. Without opening
his eyes a sudden tremor ran through the senseless form from head to
foot. Helen lifted her awe-struck face. That