"I'll get a blanket," Bill said, rising. "There come the men! That you, Ian?"
The smith and a crowd of pale faces crashed up the stairs.
"God forgie us! We let him by—the garden, sir. Alec thought he—"
"Gosh, Onnie!" said Bill, "excuse me! I'll get some clothes on. Here, Ian—"
"Onnie," said Sanford, in the doorway—"Onnie, what's the matter?"
As if to show him this, her hands, unclasping, fell from the dead bosom, and a streak of heart's blood widened from the knife-wound like the ribbon of some very noble order.
A CUP OF TEA[4]
By MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT
From Scribner's Magazine.