But the man was dead.
The rafter had struck his temple, and he had no more days of life to ruin, no more with which to redeem past ruin.
They did not tell Meg until long after, not until Blue Mountain air had blown the last of the fever away, and all the seven were together for the last week before coming home.
Then they gave her the something he had “rather prized.”
She sobbed and went away from them all when she had opened the little parcel and seen its pitifulness.
It was nothing but the length of ribbon, the blue faded, and still creased as it had tied her hair.
On the paper wrapping it he had written, “My soft-eyed girl St. Cecily.”
[274]
]CHAPTER XXV.
HERE ENDETH.
“God’s in His heaven,
All’s right with the world.”