"
Graydon found himself by the same window at which Madge had sat in her
long vigil. The bed had been removed, and in its place was a plain
yet tasteful casket. Mr. Wendall, with his head bowed down, sat at its
foot, wiping away tears from time to time with a bandana handkerchief.
Two or three stanch friends and helpers sat also in the room, for it
would appear that the Wendalls had no relatives in the vicinity.
As Madge sat down by Mrs. Wendall, so intent was the mother's gaze
upon her dead child that she did not at first notice the young girl's
presence. Madge took a thin, toil-worn hand caressingly in both her
own, and then the tearless eyes were turned upon her, and the light
of recognition came slowly into them, as if she were recalling her
thoughts from an immense distance.
"I'm glad you've come," she said, in a loud, strange whisper. "She
wanted you to be with me. She said you had trouble, and would know how
to sustain me. She left a message for you. She said, 'Tell dear Madge
that the dying sometimes have clear vision--tell her I've prayed for
her ever since, and she'll be happy yet, even in this world. Tell her
that I only saw her a little while, but she belongs to those I shall
wait for to welcome.
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