"
"Yes. I know," said Marjorie. "I don't deserve it. I refused it when he
wanted to give it to me. I wasn't kind to him."
"Yes, you were," said Linnet, "you don't know what you are saying. You
were always kind to him, and he loved you."
"Yes; but I might have been kinder," she said. "Must I tell his mother?"
"No; Miss Prudence will do that," answered Hollis. "I have Will's letter
for you to take to her."
"Where is he? Where _is_ Morris?"
"Buried in England. Will could not bring him home," said Hollis.
"His mother! What will she do?" moaned Marjorie.
"Marjorie, you talk as if there was no one to comfort her," rebuked Mrs.
Rheid.
"You have all your boys, Mrs. Rheid, and she had only Morris," said
Marjorie.
"Yes; that is true; and I cannot spare one of them. Do cry, child. Don't
sit there with your eyes so wide open and big."
Marjorie closed her eyes and leaned back against Linnet. Morris had gone
to God.
It was hours before the tears came. She sobbed herself to sleep towards
morning. She did not deserve it; but she would keep the thing he had sent
to her. Another beautiful life was ended; who would do his work on the
earth. Would Hollis? Could she do a part of it? She would love his
mother. Oh, how thankful she was that he had known that rest had begun to
come to his mother, that he had known that she was safe with Miss
Prudence.
It was like Marjorie, even in her first great sorrow, to fall asleep
thanking God.
XXIII.
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