He spoke with difficulty, in a failing tone. There followed broken words; from the face against his own tears fell upon his cheek, and she murmured, “Take me with you, Amos.”
“No—not that;” then slowly, in a voice growing fainter with each word, “but there is no Heaven without you, Spirit—of Old-fashioned—Roses.”
A gentle pressure from the fingers that held her own, and in the moonlight lay a peaceful face where a smile still lingered on the lips.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.