'I am dying,' said he, in a faultering accent; 'send instantly for the marchioness and my son.',
The organ now swelled in mournful harmony; and the voices of the assembly chanted in choral strain, a low and solemn requiem to the spirit of the departed.,
“You will come back,” he said. “You have smelt desert. You have helped build. You come back. I know. Feather-in-the-Wind will wait. Will be glad when you come. Adios!”.
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