Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 3).djvu/193

 that the dying man had raised himself in the bed.

"Turn to the Third Act—the First Scene. I enter. Listen now, and tell me what effect this has upon you. Listen!

"Why do you stare at me? Keep your eyes on the book and not on me.

Then the man stopped. He murmured these words yet again and again; then, turning to the doctor, he told him what he well knew—that he was dying.

"Do you know what would be my dream in that long sleep?" he asked wildly and yet plaintively. "I will tell you. My brother! He would mock at me that I was snapped off in the very moment of my triumph. He would point at me and laugh. I, who had refused to hold out a helping hand to him and exert my influence to better his position. Oh! I couldn't bear that! Harry, Harry, old fellow, if I could only see you again, if I could only ask you to forgive me before it is too late; if I—Doctor," he cried suddenly "I must see my brother Harry! I must see him! You'll find his address in that desk—send for him. Tell him his brother Clem wants to speak to him, and do at last what he has always refused. There, in that desk."

The doctor quietly laid the patient's head upon the pillow. Then he told him that which brought a wild smile of gladness to his pallid face. He laughed at the news. His brother Harry was below waiting even then. When the doctor saw that the man was dying, he had asked the servants if their master had any relations living. They only knew of one—a brother he never saw, a brother who only a few days before had knocked at the door, and had gone away unseen. They knew his address, for he had left it. He had come up to London, hoping against hope that still the great actor would endeavour to get him an engagement. So the doctor telegraphed to him, and he had only just that moment come.

"Send him to me—now—at once," the dying man said in a voice now weak. "Tell him, before he comes up, that his brother Clem is longing to see him."

The doctor went to the door and called; and when he saw Henry Walford ascending the stairs, he started in surprise. How like these two men were; how wonderfully like! But one, though poverty had lined her story upon his face, looked strong and well, the other man was dying fast. Quietly he entered.