The light of a beautiful Sunday morning found Miss Du Plessis, Miss
Halbert, and Miss Graves in bitter sorrow, and little Marjorie beside
herself with grief. The very kitchen was full of lamentation; but one
young woman went about, silent and serious indeed, yet tearless. This
was Miss Carmichael. The doctor had come down to breakfast, leaving the
dominie alone with the patient, when she took a tray from Tryphena, and
carried up the morning repast of the watcher. Then, for the first time,
she got a sight of the wounded man, whose eyes the doctor had closed,
and whose jaw by gentle pressure he had brought back, till the lips were
only half parted. She could hardly speak, as she laid a timid hand on
her late principal's shoulder, directing his attention to the breakfast
tray. "Look away, please, for Cecile's sake if not for mine," she
managed to stammer, and, as he turned his head aside, she flung herself
upon her knees beside the bed, and took the apparently dead man's hand
in her own, covered it with tears and kisses, and transferred the ring
she had once worn back to her own hand, replacing it with one of her own
that would hardly slip down over the bloodless emaciated finger.
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