for breath;
there was a trace of blood-stained foam about his lips.

"Speak! Oh, speak, in God's name!" Rosamund exhorted him from the other
side, and her voice was wrung with agony.

He looked at her, and smiled faintly. "Never fear," he whispered, "I
shall speak. God has spared me to that end. Take your arms from me,
Killigrew. I am the... the vilest of men. It... it was I who killed
Peter Godolphin."

"My God!" groaned Sir John, whilst Lord Henry drew a sharp breath of
dismay and realization.

"Ah, but that is not my sin," Lionel continued. "There was no sin in
that. We fought, and in self-defence I slew him--fighting fair. My sin
came afterwards. When suspicion fell on Oliver, I nourished it...Oliver
knew the deed was mine, and kept silent that he might screen me. I
feared the truth might become known for all that... and... and I was
jealous of him, and... and I had him kidnapped to be sold...."

His fading voice trailed away into silence. A cough shook him, and the
faint crimson foam on his lips was increased. But he rallied again, and
lay there panting, his fingers plucking at the coverlet.

"Tell them," said Rosamund, who in her desperate fight for Sir Oliver's
life kept her mind cool and steady and directed towards essentials,
"tell them the name of the man you hired to kidnap him."

"Jasper Leigh, the skipper of the Swallow," he answered, whereupon she
flashed upon Lord Henry a look that contained a gleam of triumph for all
that her face was ashen and her lips trembled.

Then she turned again to the dying man, relentlessly almost in her
determination to extract all vital truth from him ere he fell silent.

"Tell them," she bade him, "under what circumstances Sir Oliver sent you
last night to the Silver Heron."

"Nay, there is no need to harass him," Lord Henry interposed. "He has
said enough already. May God forgive us our blindness, Killigrew!"

Sir John bowed his head in silence over Lionel.

"Is it you, Sir John?" whispered the dying man. "What? Still there? Ha!"
he seemed to laugh faintly, then checked. "I am going...." he muttered,
and again his voice grew stronger, obeying the last flicker of his
shrinking will. "Noll! I am going! I...I have made reparation... all
that I could. Give me... give me thy hand!" Gropingly he put forth his
right.

"I should have given it you ere this but that my wrists are bound,"
cried Oliver in a sudden frenzy. And then exerting that colossal
strength of his,