. He dwelt on all that
had passed between them from the first, the strange ancestral enmity
that nothing had as yet overcome, the misunderstandings, the prejudices,
the character whose faultlessness he had always revered, and the
repeated failure of all attempts to be friends, as if his own impatience
and passion had borne fruit in the merited distrust of the man whom of
all others he respected, and whom he would fain love as a brother. He
earnestly hoped that so valuable a life might be spared; but if that
might not be, his fervent wish was, that at least a few parting words
of goodwill and reconciliation might be granted to be his comfort in
remembrance.

So mused Guy during the night, as he watched the heavy doze between
sleep and stupor, and tried to catch the low, indistinct mutterings that
now and then seemed to ask for something. Towards morning Philip awoke
more fully, and as Guy was feeling his pulse, he faintly asked,--

'How many?' while his eyes had more of their usual expression.

'I cannot count,' returned Guy; 'but it is less than in the evening.
Some drink?'

Philip took some, then making an effort to look round, said,--'What day
is it?'

'Saturday morning, the 23rd of August.'

'I have been ill a long time!'

'You have indeed, full three weeks; but you are better to-night.'

He was silent for some moments; then, collecting himself, and
looking fixedly at Guy, he said, in his own steady voice, though very
feeble,--'I suppose, humanly speaking, it is an even chance between life
and death?'

'Yes,' said Guy, firmly, the low sweet tones of his voice full of
tenderness. 'You are very ill; but not without hope.' Then, after a
pause, during which Philip looked thoughtful, but calm, he added,--'I
have tried to bring a clergyman here, but I could not succeed. Would you
like me to read to you?'

'Thank you-presently--but I have something to say. Some more
water;--thank you.' Then, after pausing, 'Guy, you have thought I judged
you harshly; I meant to act for the best.'

'Don't think of that,' said Guy, with a rush of joy at hearing the words
of reconciliation he had yearned for so long.

'And now you have been most kind. If I live, you shall see that I am
sensible of it;' and he feebly moved his hand to his cousin, who pressed
it, hardly less happy than on the day he stood before Mrs. Edmonstone in
the dressing-room. Presently, Philip went on. 'My sister has my will. My
love to her, and to--to--to