"I am so happy at thought of seeing you all again, and at all that has happened, that I am too nervous, too glad, or too something, to write more. Aunt Conway, looking over my shoulder at this, says it is hysterical. I am not sure it is not; so, mother, dear, try to evolve order out of this confused chaos of facts, and we will tell the story more lengthily and intelligibly when we all get home, which, thank Heaven, will be very soon. I have had no letter from you for a month. Why is it? "With tendered regards to all, I am your devoted daughter, "LULU C. CONWAY. "P. S.--General Winans would write to Grace, but fears repulse in spite of my assurances to the contrary. He tells me he must ask pardon only on his knees for the irreparable suffering he has caused her gentle spirit. Perhaps he is right--I cannot tell. Once more with fondest love, _au revoir_. "LULU." CHAPTER XXIX. LAST WORDS. "As the bird to its sheltering nest, When the storm on the hills is abroad. So his spirit has flown from this world of unrest, To repose on the bosom of God." --W. H. BURLEIGH. "Who has not kept some trifling thing, More prized than jewels rare, A faded flower, a broken ring, A tress of golden hair?" "Grace, love, will you go to Willard? He has something to say to you." The southern sun hung low in the western heavens; the day was excessively warm for April, and a little cloud in the sky, "no bigger than a man's hand," foreboded a shower. Grace turned from the window where she stood watching the shifting white clouds in the blue sky, and went back to the room from which she had stolen to hide the bitter pain at her heart. A very solemn silence hung about the white-draped chamber. The window shutters were open to admit the balmy air, and a slanting ray of sunshine had stolen in and brightened the top of the sick man's pillow, touching into golden radiance the dark locks pushed away from his brow. The wan and wasted face wore a beautiful serenity that was not of earth. "God's finger" had "touched him" very gently, but palpably. Grace bent over him, taking his cold white hand in hers with voiceless emotion. She had grown so fond of him in a warm, sisterly fashion, reverenced his brave, pure, upright spirit so highly that it seemed to her a close and kindred soul was winging its way from her side to the bright beyond, leaving her more alone and desolate than ever. "It is almost over," he said, looking up at her with the reflex of a smile in the beautiful dark-gray orbs that kept their luminous radiance to the last.