Mrs. Russelthorpe closed his eyes—eyes that had looked their last on a world which had generally treated him very well; then went to her room with lips pressed closely together.
Meg knelt on till the grey dawn crept in, and some one entering disturbed her.
"You can do no more for him now. Come away; indeed, Meg, you must come," said Laura.
Laura looked pale, and even a little nervous. She dreaded Meg's grief, remembering how "hard" the little sister, whom they had rather neglected, had always taken everything.
But this Meg was not the "little sister" of old; or rather, perhaps, her identity was hidden under a new garb.
She rose from her knees dry-eyed and composed.
"I am going back to my husband," she said. "Father does not want me now, as you say. Barnabas has been very good. He has waited all these days. I should like to stay till after the funeral, but——"
"Come home with me!" said Laura.
She put her hand on her sister's arm and grasped her tightly.
"Don't disappear, Meg! I don't want to lose you; you—you are so like him," she whispered, with a glance at the bed, where that quiet figure lay in the deep peace that neither grief nor love should ever move again.