Late in the afternoon Wynnette, Elva and Rosemary came in from school.
Odalite told them that Col. Anglesea was dead, and showed them the paper containing the notice of his death and the sketch of his life.
At first the children received the news in silent incredulity, to be succeeded by the reverential awe with which the young and happy hear of death and the grave.
Wynnette was the first to recover herself.
“Oh! Odalite, I am glad, for your sake, that you are freed from the incubus of that man’s life. I hope it is no sin to say this, for I cannot help feeling so,” she said.
“I hope the poor sinner truly repented of his iniquity and found grace even at the eleventh hour,” breathed the pitiful little Elva.
“I don’t know,” sighed quaint little Rosemary, folding her mites of hands with sad solemnity. “I don’t know. It is an awful risk for any one, more particularly for a man like Col. Anglesea.”
“‘The vilest sinner may return,’ you know,” pleaded Elva.
“Yes, he may, but he don’t often do it,” said Wynnette, putting in her word.
“Let me read the notice of his death and the sketch of his life,” suggested Odalite, for she had only shown them the paper containing these articles.