“What have I ever done,” he asked himself, “to make them think so?  If I were to be taken out of the world to-morrow, I would be leaving it exactly as I found it.  Who could point to my coffin and say, ’Laws are better, politics are purer, or times are not so hard for the masses now, because this one man willed to lift up his fellows as far as the might of one strong life can reach?’ But they will say that of Malcolm, and Keith, if he lives—­ah, if he lives!”

An hour later the door opened, and Malcolm came in, softly.  “Keith is asking for you, papa,” he said, with a timid glance into his father’s haggard face.  Then he came nearer, and slipped his hand into the man’s strong fingers, and together they went up the stairs to answer the summons.

“Did you want me, Keith?”

The head did not turn on the pillow.  The languid eyes opened only half-way, but there was recognition in them now, and one little hand was raised to lay itself lovingly against his father’s cheek.

“What is it, son?”

The weak little voice tried to answer, but the words came only in gasps.  “Brother knows—­about Jonesy—­keep him from being a tramp!  Please let me, papa—­do that much good—­in my life ‘else wherefore—­born?’”

“What is it, Keith?” asked his father, bending over him.  “Papa doesn’t exactly understand.  But you can have anything you want, my boy.  Anything!  I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Malcolm knows,” was the answer.  Then the voice seemed somewhat stronger for an instant, and a faint smile touched Keith’s lips.  “Give my half of the bear to Ginger.  Now—­may I have—­my—­white—­flower?”

Throwing back his coat, his father unpinned the little badge from his vest, where he had fastened it for safe-keeping a short time before in the library.  A pleased expression flitted over the child’s face, as he saw where it had been resting, and when it was fastened in the front of his little embroidered nightshirt, his hand closed over the pin as if it were something very precious, and he were afraid of losing it again.

“Wearing the white flower,” they heard him whisper, and then the little knight slept.

* * * * *

It was hours afterward when he roused again,—­hours when the faintest noise had not been allowed in the house; when the servants had been sent to the cottage, and Unc’ Henry stationed at the front gate; that no one might drive up the avenue.

Virginia, in a hammock on the veranda, scarcely dared draw a deep breath till she heard the doctor coming down the stairs, just before dark.  Then she knew by his face that prayers and skill and tender nursing had not been in vain, and that Keith would live.

* * * * *

So much can happen in a week.  In the seven days that followed Keith gradually grew strong enough to be propped up in bed a little while at a time; Captain Dudley and his wife came home from Cuba, and Mr. Maclntyre began to carry out the promise he had made to Keith that day when they feared most he could not live.