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Wylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross), 1885-1959

"The Native Born or, the Rajah's People"


"I will tell her," he said. "Stay quiet a minute. We have no time to
lose."
Travers nodded and fell back on to his rough couch. His eyes closed
and he seemed to sleep, but as Beatrice knelt down by his side he
roused himself and looked at her with the intensity of a man who has
gathered his last strength for a last great purpose.
"I am dying," he whispered thickly; "I know it and I don't care. I am
past caring. But before I die I want to atone; I want, if I can, to
save Lois. I care for her in my poor way, and I would like her to be
happy. Are you listening?"
"I am listening," Beatrice answered gravely. "Do you think I could
close my ears when you speak of atonement?"
He clutched her hand.
"You would be glad to atone for all the mischief we have done?"
"I would give my life."
"Is the Colonel there? I can't see clearly. Colonel, I want you to
hear what I have to say."
Colonel Carmichael turned.
"This is no time," he said sternly, "and it is too late for atonement.
Our account with this world is closed."
"It need not be. Colonel--in the name of those whose lives lie in your
hands, I beg of you to listen to me."
There was a moment's hesitating silence. Travers' glazed eyes were
fixed on the elder man's face with a hypnotizing power. The Colonel
drew nearer--reluctantly knelt down.
"Be quick then!" he said.
Travers nodded. His head was thrown back against Beatrice's shoulder.


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