The parched, dried lips almost refused their office. It was an
hour afterward that Hewson entered the room, bearing a letter in
his hand. It was brought, he said by Thomas Ginns, who lived at
the cottage past Fair Glenn hills. It had been written by a man
who lay dying there, and who had prayed him to take it at once
without delay.
"I ventured to bring it to you, my lord," said the butler; "the
man seemed to think it a matter of life or death."
Lord Earle took the letter from his hands--he tried to open it,
but the trembling fingers seemed powerless. He signed to Hewson
to leave the room, and, placing the letter upon the table,
resumed his melancholy watch. But in some strange way his
thoughts wandered to the missive. What might it not contain,
brought to him, too, in the solemn death chamber? He opened it,
and found many sheets of closely covered paper. On the first was
written "The Confession of Hugh Fernely."
The name told him nothing. Suddenly an idea came to him--could
this confession have anything to do with the fate of the beloved
child who lay before him? Kneeling by the dead child's side, he
turned over the leaf and read as follows:
"Lord Earle, I am dying--the hand tracing this will soon be
cold.
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