Again Bruce's eyes summoned me. I bent over him.
“My letter,” he said, faintly, “in my coat—”
I brought to him the last letter from his mother. He held the envelope before his eyes, then handed it to me, whispering:
“Read.”
I opened the letter and looked at the words, “My darling Davie.” My tongue stuck and not a sound could I make. Moore put out his hand and took it from me. The Duke rose to go out, calling me with his eyes, but Bruce motioned him to stay, and he sat down and bowed his head, while Moore read the letter.
His tones were clear and steady till he came to the last words, when his voice broke and ended in a sob:
“And oh, Davie, laddie, if ever your heart turns home again, remember the door is aye open, and it's joy you'll bring with you to us all.”
Bruce lay quite still, and, from his closed eyes, big tears ran down his cheeks. It was his last farewell to her whose love had been to him the anchor to all things pure here and to heaven beyond.
He took the letter from Moore's hand, put it with difficulty to his lips, and then, touching the open Bible, he said, between his breaths:
“It's—very like—there's really—no fear, is there?”