" "Shall we do so?" whispered Winifred to her father. That is my way, my dear. I can't concentrate on my work. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid. Things happen out this way. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. Now then," he added more calmly, "I am ready to die. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. I want you to hold me and have me SO.
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