Reginald Grahame was a free man, and once more happy. The court even apologised to him, and wished him all the future joys that life could give.
But the wretched culprit forestalled justice, and managed to strangle himself in his cell. And thus the awful tragedy ended.
“I knew it, I knew it!” cried Annie, as a morning or two after his exculpation Reginald presented himself at McLeod Cottage. And the welcome he received left nothing to be desired.
Chapter Twenty Eight.
The Last Cruise to the Island of Flowers.
In quite a ship-shape form was poor Reginald’s release from prison, and from the very jaws of death. Met at the door by his friends and old shipmates. Dickson was there, with his four brave sailors, and many was the fellow-student who stretched out his hands to shake Reginald’s, as pale and weakly he came down the steps. Then the students formed themselves into procession—many who read these lines may remember it—and, headed by a brass band, marched with Dickson and the sailors, who bore Reginald aloft in an armchair, marched to the other end of Union Street, then back as far as a large hotel. Here, after many a ringing cheer, they dismissed themselves. But many returned at eventide and partook of a sumptuous banquet in honour of Reginald, and this feast was paid for by Dickson himself. The common sailors were there also, and not a few strange tales they had to tell, their memories being refreshed by generous wine.