Try to help her. She is coarse, one of the people, as you
say here, but she has courage and is faithful. Help her!"
His head drooped. The action of the brandy, whilst momentarily stimulating
the heart, helped the stupefaction of the brain. It was a question of a
minute, perhaps two.
"Why did you come here to-day?" asked Brett quickly.
"To see Margaret She would give me money. I was going away. That man--I
threw from the train--was her husband? He was not--a proper mate--for a
Frazer--or a Hume. We are--an old race--of soldiers. We know--how to die.
Four of us--fell fighting--in Japan. I am dying! What a pity!"
His head sank lower. His breath grew faint His voice died away in
unintelligible words. After a brief silence he spoke again.
The words he used were Japanese. In his weakened consciousness all he
could recollect was the language he learnt from his Japanese mother--the
mother he despised when he became a man and knew his history.
Winter and Brett were now holding him. The others drew apart. They
afterwards confessed that the death of this murderer, this tiger-cub of
their race, affected them greatly. He was fearless to the end. The way in
which he quitted life became him more than the manner in which he lived.
There was a bustle without, and the local doctor entered. He looked wise,
profound, even ventured on a sceptical remark when the barrister explained
that Ooma had injected snake-poison into his arm.
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