"
"Make an offer to him of some income, and settle it on him. Do it at
once." The old man, as he said this, was thinking probably of the great
danger that all Tretton might, before long, have been made to vanish.
"And, Mountjoy--"
"Sir."
"You have gambled surely enough for amusement. With such a property as
this in your hands gambling becomes very serious."
They were the last words,--the last intelligible words,--which the old man
spoke. He died with his left hand on his son's neck, and took Merton and
his sister by his side. It was a death-bed not without its lesson,--not
without a certain charm in the eyes of some fancied beholder. Those who
were there seemed to love him well, and should do so.
He had contrived, in spite of his great faults, to create a respect in
the minds of those around him, which is itself a great element of love.
But there was something in his manner which told of love for others. He
was one who could hate to distraction, and on whom no bonds of blood
would operate to mitigate his hatred. He would persevere to injure with
a terrible persistency; but yet in every phase of his life he had been
actuated by love for others. He had never been selfish, thinking always
of others rather than of himself.
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