At last, her friends who had helped in her elopement, hearing of her father’s firm decision, which barred all reconciliation, insisted upon her revealing to him their names and the true story; and when Rowland Robinson next rode up to his daughter’s door he received the welcome message that she would see him and tell him all. When he entered that barren chamber all thought of discovering her closely guarded secret fled at once from his thoughts as he gazed at the wasted form of the once beautiful girl. He knelt by her bedside and wept aloud in anguish and remorse. As soon as he recovered his composure he at once rode to his home, from whence he despatched to Providence in a fast-sailing sloop four of his strongest and trustiest negro men, and a hand-litter for the sick, which was, at that time of rough roads and few carriages, an indispensable article in every well-appointed Narragansett household. Dusty, travel-stained, and tired, without waiting for a night’s rest he at once jumped upon a fresh horse and, attended by Prince, who was mounted and led a horse for Hannah’s maid, poor Rowland Robinson started for the last time to ride to his sick daughter’s door. Upon a lovely morning in June, the four strong negroes, bearing the litter upon which lay the sick girl, with her father and faithful Prince riding on either side, slowly wended their way to poor Hannah’s early home. Those who know the beauty of sunny Narragansett in early June, when the roads are everywhere overhung with the graceful, sweet-scented blossoms of slender locust-trees, when the roadsides are one luxuriant, blooming garden of lovely wild flowers, and the fields are sweet with rich clover, can feel the strong and painful contrast which the sad figure of the dying girl must have formed to the glowing life around. When the spot was reached on Ridge Hill where Hannah had seen for the last time her sister Mary, Prince saw that she covered her face with her hands and cried. One other pathetic incident is told by “Shepherd Tom” of the homeward journey. Though on every side lay a glory of spring flowers, poor Hannah, with thoughts that no one can fathom, asked her father to pick for her and lay on her breast a withered sprig of the pale blossom called life-everlasting, which had bloomed and died the year before. At last the painful journey was ended; of the sad meeting between mother and daughter, and of the sorrowful faces of the faithful servants, it is needless to write in detail. That night a whip-poor-will--the bird believed throughout Narragansett to be the harbinger of death--perched on the lilac-bush under the window of the chamber where once again slept Unfortunate Hannah; and throughout the long dark hours sounded gloomily in the father’s ears the sad, ominous cry of “Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will!” The following day poor Hannah died.