"She's kind o' wanderin', puir thing," he heard the mother say in
explanation to the others. "She's kind o' wanderin' in her mind."
It was a sad little group which stood round the dying girl, all anxious
and alarmed and watchful. Then after a while she opened her eyes again
and there was a look of startled surprise as if she were looking at
something in the distance. Then she began to recognize each and all of
them in turn, first Robert, who still held her hand, then her mother and
Nellie, and Peter. A faint smile came into her eyes and he stepped
forward. Her lips moved slowly and a faint sound came falteringly from
them.
"Dinna be angry wi' onybody," she panted. "It was a'--a--mistake."
Then raising her hand she held it out to Peter, who advanced towards the
bedside and placing his hand on Robert's she clasped them together in
her own. "There noo--dinna be angry--it was a' a mistake. It was Rob I
liket--it was him--I wanted. But it--was--a' a mistak'. Dinna be--" and
the glazed sunken eyes closed forever, never to open again, a faint
noise gurgled in her throat, and the dews of death stood out in beads
upon the pale brow. A tiny quiver of the eyelids, and a tremor through
the thin hands and Mysie--poor ruined broken waif of the world--was
gone.
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