"Why, pretty Constance, don't grieve, child!" said the Plymouth captain, heartily.
"Giles hath come to no harm, I warrant you, though he has spent the night again with that harum-scarum Jack Billington, and this time Francis Billington, too."
"Oh, Captain Standish, it is not Giles! I forgot Giles," gasped Constance.
"Rose?" exclaimed the captain, sharply.
Constance bent her head. "She is passing. I came to seek you," she said, and together she and the captain went to Rose's side.
They found Doctor Fuller there holding Rose's hand as she lay with closed eyes, breathing lightly. In his other hand he held his watch measuring the brief moments left, in which Rose Standish should be a part of time. Mary Brewster, the elder's wife, held up a warning finger not to disturb Rose, but Doctor Fuller looked quietly toward Captain Standish.
"It matters not now, Myles," he said. "You cannot harm her. There are but few moments left."
Myles Standish sprang forward, fell upon his knees, and raised Rose in his arms.
"Rose of the world, my English blossom, what have I done to bring thee here?" he sobbed, with a strong man's utter abandonment of grief, and with none of the Puritan habit of self-restraint.
"Wherever thou hadst gone, I would have chosen, my husband! I loved thee, Myles, I loved thee Myles!" she said, so clearly that everyone heard her sweet voice echo to the farthest corner of the room, and for the last time.