eath the words went through his brain.

"Tell me--everything," he whispered.

"Yes--before I die--if I can."

"Who are you?" he said. "What is your real name?"

"Nora O'Guire. I am Kitty Lambton's youngest daughter. I told you her
story."

"And Patsy?"

"He was my father."

"Was?"

"Yes. He is at the house--dead--Dudgeon--shot him."

"Who was it robbed the bank?"

"Dad and I."

"And Eustace?"

"No. He was innocent."

A shudder of horror passed over him. The woman whom he had loved with
such an abandon, this woman whom he held even then in his arms--he
shrank away from her, letting her fall against the stone as the grim,
sordid horror of the tragedy she was revealing grew plain before him.

"Ah, don't leave me--don't--don't," she moaned. "Let me die in your
arms--let me--oh, I love you, love you beyond all else. I will tell you
everything--everything--only still hold me."

"How did Eustace die?" His voice rang hard and pitiless.

"Oh! Give me this one last joy on earth. I am not all bad. Don't deny me
now. Hold me in your arms, beloved. I had no faith in man or God till I
met you, and you were good to me--in the coach--have you forgotten?
Don't desert me--now."

Like a jagged claw rending harp-strings the phrases jarred and jangled
every chord within his being.

"Oh, why--why----?" he cried. "Why did you come to this?"

"Hold me and I will tell you."

He knelt by her side, taking her head again upon his shoulder while she
clutched at his hand.

"My strength is going--more rum--quick."

He held the bottle to her mouth in silence, loving, loathing, pitying,
and condemning.

"Now. Don't stop me. Don't interrupt--only listen."

She lay still for a few minutes, gathering the last of her energy.
Presently she began.

"Dad, O'Guire that is, was driven to stealing. Mother too. All the other
little ones died but me. Dad trained me. Write to the police in London
and ask about Nora O'Guire--there are lots of other names, but they know
me under all as Nora O'Guire. Then mother died. She made me swear not to
rest till we had revenged her on Dudgeon. We came out, Dad and I, came
out to find him. I bluffed the bank."

"But the deeds you had with you--were they forgeries?"

"No. I stole them. From a solicitor's office in Dublin--he probably does
not know they are missing. Write to him."

"Where are they now?"

"In the cellar under the house--in a stone jar. His name is on them. The
bank-notes are