"Oliver?" he said in a hoarse whisper. "Where is Oliver?"
"There is not the need to distress you...." Sir John was beginning, when
Lionel interrupted him.
"Wait!" he commanded in a louder tone. "Is Oliver safe?"
"I am here," said Sir Oliver's deep voice, and those who stood between
him and his brother drew aside that they might cease from screening him.
Lionel looked at him for a long moment in silence, sitting up a little.
Then he sank back again slowly against Sir John's breast.
"God has been merciful to me a sinner," he said, since He accords me the
means to make amends, tardily though it be."
Then he struggled up again, and held out his arms to Sir Oliver, and his
voice came in a great pleading cry. "Noll! My brother! Forgive!"
Oliver advanced, none hindering until, with his hands still pinioned
behind him he stood towering there above his brother, so tall that his
turban brushed the low ceiling of the cabin. His countenance was stern
and grim.
"What is it that you ask me to forgive?" he asked. Lionel struggled to
answer, and sank back again into Sir John's arms, fighting for breath;
there was a trace of blood-stained foam about his lips.
"Speak! Oh, speak, in God's name!" Rosamund exhorted him from the other
side, and her voice was wrung with agony.
He looked at her, and smiled faintly. "Never fear," he whispered, "I
shall speak. God has spared me to that end.
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