inanimate form of her sister, and almost shrieking as she saw Willie's
wild eye, and heard his incoherent words. Terrible to Mr. Hamilton was
this coming home. Like one who walks in sleep, he went from room to
room, kissing the burning brow of one child, and then, while the hot
breath was yet warm upon his lips, pressing them to the cold face of
the other.

All day Margaret sat by her dying brother, praying that he might be
spared until Walter came. Her prayer was answered; for at nightfall
Walter was with them. Half an hour after his return Willie died; but
ere his right hand dropped lifeless by his side he held it up to view,
saying:

"Father--give it to nobody but father."

After a moment Margaret, taking within hers the fast-stiffening hand,
gently unclosed the fingers, and found the crumpled piece of paper on
which Carrie had written to her father.




CHAPTER XI.

MARGARET AND HER FATHER.


'Twas midnight--midnight after the burial. In the library of the old
homestead sat its owner, his arms resting upon the table, and his face
reclining upon his arms. Sadly was he reviewing the dreary past, since