Your pardon!" He knelt also and took the moveless hand, feeling the pulse; he, too, thrust his hand within the breast and held it there, looking at the sunken face.
"My dear lord," her ladyship was saying, as if to the prostrate man's ear alone, knowing that her tender voice must reach him if aught would--as indeed was truth.

"Edward! My dear--dear lord!" Osmonde held his hand steadily over the heart.

The guests shrunk back, stricken with terror.
There was that in this corner of the splendid room which turned faces pale.
Osmonde slowly withdrew his hand, and turning to the kneeling woman--with a pallor like that of marble, but with a noble tenderness and pity in his eyes-- "My lady," he said, "you are a brave woman.

Your great courage must sustain you.

The heart beats no more.