"Oh, m-master Hangman," he whispered, "y-you're too l-late--j-just
too late!" And so, like a weary child settling itself to rest, he
pillowed his head upon his arm, and sighing--fell asleep.
Then Mr. Shrig stepped forward very softly, and beholding that
placid young face with its tender, smiling lips, and the lashes that
drooped so dark against the dead pallor of the cheek, he took off
his broad-brimmed hat and stood there with bent head.
But another figure had followed him, and now sprang toward Barnabas
with supporting arms outstretched, and in that moment Barnabas sighed,
and falling forward, lay there sprawled across the table.
CHAPTER LXXIII
WHICH RECOUNTS THREE AWAKENINGS
The sunlight was flooding in at the open lattice and, as if borne
upon this shaft of glory, came the mingled fragrance of herb and
flower and ripening fruit with the blithe carolling of birds, a very
paean of thanksgiving; the chirp of sparrows, the soft, rich notes
of blackbirds, the warbling trill of thrushes, the far, faint song
of larks high in the blue--it was all there, blent into one
harmonious chorus of joy, a song that spoke of hope and a fair future
to such as were blessed with ears to hear.
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