'Don't, don't," said Moore quickly, with sharp pain in his voice, and Bruce smiled a little and closed his eyes, saying: "I'm tired." But he immediately opened them again and looked up.
"What is it?" asked Moore, smiling down into his eyes.
"The Duke," the poor lips whispered.
"He is coming," said Moore, confidently, though how he knew I could not tell. But even as he spoke, looking out of the window, I saw Jingo come swinging round the bluff. Bruce heard the beat of his hoofs, smiled, opened his eyes and waited. The leap of joy in his eyes as The Duke came in, clean, cool and fresh as the morning, went to my heart.
Neither man said a word, but Bruce took hold of The Duke's hand in both of his. He was fast growing weaker. I gave him brandy, and he recovered a little strength.
"I am dying, Duke," he said, quietly. "Promise you won't blame yourself."
"I can't, old man," said The Duke, with a shudder. "Would to heaven I could."
"You were too strong for me, and you didn't think, did you?" and the weak voice had a caress in it
