There is a silver night-lamp in my room; I wish it to be yours.

Adieu, my friend." The Little Chemist tried to speak, but could not.

He stooped and kissed Valmond's hand, as though he thought him still a prince, and not the impostor which the British rifles had declared him.

To the end, the coterie would act according to the light of their own eyes.
"It is now but a step--to anything," repeated Valmond.
The Cure understood him at last.

"The longest journey is short by the light of the grave," he responded gently.
Presently the door opened, admitting the avocat.