A slight rustling causes him to start.
"My dear boy."
The young man leans gently forward and supports the upraised hand.
"Phillip, I have got my prayer. Is Marguerite near?"
Mr. Verne looked agitated, and Phillip Lawson feared the result.
"But you must be very quiet now, Mr. Verne. You know that much
depends upon yourself."
"Ah, Phillip, I know it too well, but I have something to tell you,
which is killing me by inches. Phillip you are the only one who must
know it now. The rest will come in good time--in good time my boy!"
Phillip Lawson administered the soothing draught that had been
tri-hourly prescribed, then lovingly placed his arm around the
wasted form and laid him softly on the downy pillow.
Mr. Verne's voice was much stronger, and it cost him less effort to
speak.
"It will do more harm than good to deny the request," thought the
young man, and he leaned forward that the voice might reach his ear
with the least possible effort of the speaker.
Mr. Verne drew a heavy sigh, and then began:--"Phillip Lawson, you
are one of the truest friends I ever had, and heaven will yet bless
you for all you have done for me."
The young man was about to appeal when he saw that Mr.
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