William Wilkie Collins

“ Dear Crayford! come nearer! My mind clears, but my eyes grow dim. You will remember me kindly for Frank's sake? Poor Frank! why does he hide his face? Is he crying? Nearer, Clara—I want to look my last at you. My sister, Clara! Kiss me, sister, kiss me before I die!"
She stooped and kissed his forehead. A faint smile trembled on his lips. It passed away; and stillness possessed the face—the stillness of Death.
Crayford's voice was heard in the silence.
"The loss is ours," he said. "The gain is his. He has won the greatest of all conquests—the conquest of himself. ”

“ Every man left his work. Every man waved his cap in the air. The passengers, near at hand, caught the infection of enthusiasm, and joined the crew. A moment more, and Richard Wardour appeared again in the doorway, carrying a man in his arms. He staggered, breathless with the effort that he was making, to the place where Clara stood, held up in Mrs. Crayford's arms.
"Saved, Clara!" he cried. "Saved for you!"
He released the man, and placed him in Clara's arms.
Frank! foot-sore and weary—but living—saved; saved for her! "Now, Clara!" cried Mrs. Crayford, "which of us is right? ”

“ The man was a sinister and terrible object to look at. His eyes glared like the eyes of a wild animal; his head was bare; his long gray hair was torn and tangled; his miserable garments hung about him in rags. ”