crushed. His left arm was under him,
and outstretched in his right hand was
the shattered cluster, with every
blossom gone but one. One white half of
his face was unmarked, and on it was
still the shadow of a smile. I think it
meant more than that Grayson believed
that he was near peace at last. It
meant that Fate had done the deed for
him and that he was glad. Whether he
would have done it himself, I do not
know; and that is why I say that
though Grayson brought the flower
down--smiling from peak to ravine--
I do not know that he was not, after
all, a coward.

That night I wrote to the woman in
Kentucky. I told her that Grayson
had fallen from a cliff while climbing
for flowers; and that he was dead.
Along with these words, I sent a purple
rhododendron.