“Dearest Jim,” she whispered, “I have waited a long time, but I was sure we should come together again at last. It is enough.”
Before he could reply the train was stopping at the platform, and a gentleman with a lady appeared at the door. Miss Castleton stepped out and was at once driven away in a carriage with her companions.
He lived three years and then died almost suddenly of the disease which he had foreseen would kill him. He had no children, but few relatives, and his attendant was a hospital nurse. But the day before his death a lady appeared who announced herself as a family friend, and the nurse was superseded. It was Elizabeth: she came to his bedside, and he recognised her.
“Not till this morning,” she said, “did I hear you were ill.”
“Happy,” he cried, “though I die to-night.”
Soon afterwards—it was about sundown—he became unconscious; she sat there alone with him till the morning broke, and then he passed away, and she closed his eyes.
“YOU ask me how I lost my foot? You I see that dog?”—an unattractive beast lying before the fire—“well, when I tell you how I came by him you will know how I lost it;” and he then related the following story:—