"
Moore came to him.
"Read 'The Prodigal,'" he said faintly, and in Moore's clear, sweet
voice the music of that matchless story fell upon our ears.
Again Bruce's eyes summoned me. I bent over him.
"My letter," he said, faintly, "in my coat--"
I brought to him the last letter from his mother. He held the envelope
before his eyes, then handed it to me, whispering:
"Read."
I opened the letter and looked at the words, "My darling Davie." My
tongue stuck and not a sound could I make. Moore put out his hand and
took it from me. The Duke rose to go out, calling me with his eyes, but
Bruce motioned him to stay, and he sat down and bowed his head, while
Moore read the letter.
His tones were clear and steady till he came to the last words, when his
voice broke and ended in a sob:
"And oh, Davie, laddie, if ever your heart turns home again, remember
the door is aye open, and it's joy you'll bring with you to us all."
Bruce lay quite still, and, from his closed eyes, big tears ran down his
cheeks. It was his last farewell to her whose love had been to him the
anchor to all things pure here and to heaven beyond.
He took the letter from Moore's hand, put it with difficulty to his
lips, and then, touching the open Bible, he said, between his breaths:
"It's--very like--there's really--no fear, is there?"
"No, no!" said Moore, with cheerful, confident voice, though his, tears
were flowing.
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