It was at this point that Archie appeared in the door, and after greeting his Uncle John and the Lady Jane with the grace and courtesy so natural to him, he went to his father’s bedside, where he stopped suddenly, struck with an expression on the pinched, white face, which earlier in the morning had not been there.

“Father,” he cried, while a great fear took possession of him, “what is it?  Are you worse?”

“Yes, my son, weaker—­that is all—­and going from you very fast—­before the day is over, perhaps—­and I want to talk to you, Archie, and to tell you I have nothing to leave you but Stoneleigh, and that is mortgaged; nothing but the small annuity on your life from your mother’s little fortune, which came too late to do her any good.  Oh, Dora! who bore with me so patiently, and loved me through all—­shall I find her, I wonder?  She was so good, and I am so bad!  And, Archie, my ruin has been the gaming-table, which you must avoid as you would the plague.  Death and eternal ruin sit there side by side.  Shun it, Archie, and promise me, as you hope for heaven, never to play for money—­never!”

“But what shall I do?” Archie asked, remembering that he had intended to try his fortune at Monte Carlo, where he had heard such large sums were sometimes made.  “What shall I do?”

“I don’t know, my boy,” the father replied.  “There will be some way provided.  Your Uncle John will look after you as your guardian, and your aunt in America will help.  But promise, and I shall die happier.”

And so, with no especial thought about it, except that his father wished it, Archie McPherson pledged himself never to play for money under any circumstances, and the father knew the boy would keep the pledge, and felt that his last hours of life ware easier; for those hours were his last, and when the sun went down the master of Stoneleigh lay dead in the room where he had blessed his son and commended him to the care of his brother and Anthony, feeling, certain that the latter would be truer to the trust than the former, in whom selfishness was the predominant trait.

It was a very quiet, unpretentious funeral; for John McPherson, who knew the expense of it would fall on himself, would have no unnecessary display, and the third day after his death Hugh McPherson was laid to rest by the side of the Dora he had often neglected, but always loved.

As soon as the funeral was over, John returned to London with Lady Jane, having first given Archie a great deal of good advice, to the effect, that he must do the best he could with what he had, and never spend a shilling unnecessarily, or forget that he was a McPherson.