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And when I opened my eyes, I saw Marjory standing between us!

She looked just as I had always seen her: I suppose that even the after-life could not make Marjory look purer, or more lovely than she was on earth. My first feeling was a wild conviction that it had all been some strange mistake–that Marjory was not dead.

‘Marjory, Marjory!’ I cried in my joy, ‘is it really you? You have come back, after all, and it is not true!’

She looked at us both without speaking for a moment; her dear brown eyes had lost their old childish sparkle, and were calm and serious as if with a deeper knowledge.

Ormsby had cowered back to the opposite wall, covering his face. ‘Go away!’ he gasped. ‘Cameron–you ask her to go. She–she liked you…. I never meant it. Tell her I never meant to do it!’

I could not understand such terror at the sight of Marjory, even if she had been what he thought her; but there was a reason in his case.

‘You were going to hurt Cameron,’ said Marjory, at length, and her voice sounded sad and grave and far-away.

‘I don’t care, Marjory,’ I cried, ‘not now you are here!’

She motioned me back: ‘You must not come nearer,’ she said. ‘I cannot stay long, and I must speak to Ormsby. Ormsby, have you told anyone?’

‘No,’ he said, shaking all over, ‘it could do no good…. I thought I needn’t.’

‘Tell him,’ said Marjory.

‘Must I? Oh, no, no!’ he groaned, ‘don’t make me do that!’

‘You must,’ she answered, and he turned to me with a sullen fear.

‘It was like this,’ he began; ‘that night, when I was waiting for you down there–I had some string, and it struck me, all in a moment, that it would be fun to trip you up. I didn’t mean to hurt you–only frighten you. I fastened the string across a little way from the bottom. And then’–he had to moisten his lips before he could go on–‘then she came down, and I tried to catch her–and couldn’t–no, I couldn’t!’

‘Is that all?’ asked Marjory, as he stopped short.

‘I cut the string and hid it before you came. Now you know, and you may tell if you like!’

‘Cameron, you will never tell, will you–as long as he lives?’ said Marjory. ‘You must promise.’

I was horrified by what I had heard; but her eyes were upon me, and I promised.

‘And you, Ormsby, promise me to be kinder to him after this.’

He could not speak; but he made a sign of assent.

‘And now,’ said Marjory, ‘shake hands with him and forgive him.’

But I revolted: ‘No, Marjory, I can’t; not now–when I know this!’

‘Cameron, dear,’ she said, ‘you won’t let me go away sorry, will you? and I must go so soon. For my sake, when I wish it so!’

I went to Ormsby, and took his cold, passive hand. ‘I do forgive him, Marjory,’ I said.

She smiled brightly at us both. ‘And you won’t forget, either of you?’ she said. ‘And, Douglas, you will be brave, and take your own part now. Good-bye, good-bye.’

I tried to reach her. ‘Don’t leave me; take me with you, Marjory–dear, dear Marjory, don’t go!’ But there was only firelit space where she had stood, though the sound of her pleading, pathetic voice was still in the air.

Ormsby remained for a few minutes leaning against a desk, with his face buried in his arms, and I heard him struggling with his sobs. At last he rose, and left the room without a word.

But I stayed there where I had last seen Marjory, till the fire died down, and the hour was late, for I was glad to be alone with the new and solemn joy that had come to me. For she had not forgotten me where she was; I had been allowed to see her once more, and it might even be that I should see her again. And I resolved then that when she came she should find me more worthy of her.

* * * * *

From that night my character seemed to enter upon a new phase, and when I returned to school it was to begin my second term under better auspices.

My cousins had welcomed me cordially among them, and as I mastered the lesson of give and take, of respecting one’s self in respecting others, which I needed to learn, my early difficulties vanished with the weakness that had produced them.

By Ormsby I was never again molested; in word and deed, he was true to the promise exacted from him during that last strange scene. At first, he avoided me as being too painfully connected with the past; but by degrees, as he recognised that his secret was safe in my keeping, we grew to understand one another better, although it would be too much to say that we ever became intimate.

After he went to Sandhurst I lost sight of him, and only a few months since the news of his death in the Soudan, where he fell gallantly, made me sorrowfully aware that we should never meet again.

I had a lingering fancy that Marjory might appear to me once more, but I have long since given up all hope of that in this life, and for what may come after I am content to wait.

But the charge my child-friend had undertaken was completed on the night she was allowed to return to earth and determine the crisis of two lives; there is nothing now to call the bright and gracious little spirit back, for her influence will remain always.