"Margie, Margie, I have wanted you so!" he said, as he gathered her into his embrace; and she, feeling as if all troubles must be over for life, could only murmur, "Thank God, my ship has come home, and I am rich—rich for ever."
How handsomely Mrs. Beach and Clara Raye behaved to Margie when they heard she was engaged; how their generous kindness made a speedy wedding possible; how lovely the bride looked in her simple white satin, the gift of Clara; how Lettie and the two little girls were bridesmaids; and how Sir Peter Brooks, as the husband-elect of Mattie Grayling, claimed an elder brother's privilege of giving Margie away; how Nicholas Beach sent a handsome clock as a wedding gift; and Nat Grayling was the most delightful of best men—all this we will only indicate.
Enough that Margie's ship has come home with joy and love, and that we can trust, as she does, all future voyages in the never-erring hands of the Master Pilot, knowing that all will—nay, must—be well for her both in this world and beyond, in that other, where there is no more sea.
THE END.
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