"Speak to me, Beauclerk, speak to me; it is I--Sara."
"I know you," he whispered; "you are the one I loved the best. But I haven't been true to anybody. I only wish to goodness I had another chance. I'd be different--I'd show 'em ... I never meant ..." he took her hand, her beautiful, tapering hand loaded with sapphires ... "like your eyes, old girl ... don't cry ... and I say, I posted that ... letter after all ... to please you. Are you ... pleased?"
Action is the essence of political parties, and the members of the League had the ink barely dry on their telegrams of condolence before they despatched others, summoning a special meeting for the consideration of future steps. Orange, who was regarded as a man devoid of ambition, was unanimously elected a member of the Executive Committee; he was a good speaker, he could mind his own business, he never pulled wires, and it was his rule to step aside when others behind him showed any disposition to push toward the front. On the evening of the day on which Lord Reckage died, Aumerle and Ullweather called at Vigo Street as a preliminary move in their new plan of campaign. But Robert was not there. He sat all that night, a solitary watcher, in the chamber of death. His affection for his old pupil was something stronger than a brother's love. Whether he saw him as others saw him, or whether he was aware of certain pleasant traits in that uncertain character which escaped the common run of dull observers, his devotion had never wearied in all the years of their acquaintanceship.
The old housekeeper crept into the room when the bereaved family had retired, and she was on her way to bed.
"You and me, sir, always got on with his lordship," she said, looking down, with Robert, at the still, marred face. "We understood him. He wasn't all for self--as many thought. But his heart wanted touching. If you could touch his heart, a kinder gentleman didn't live. And if it was my last breath, I'd call him the best of the lot--in spite of his tantrums, and his changeableness, and his haughty way sometimes. Mark my words, the glory of Almouth dies with him. Mr. Hercy will bring us down to rack and ruin. O, sir, I'm glad I'm old. I never want to see the sorrow that is sure to come to Almouth."