How long it must have seemed to her! And at last there came a letter—but not from Alan. Alan was dead. He had died in California and had been buried there. While Margaret had been thinking of him and longing for him and praying for him he had been lying in his lonely, faraway grave."
Cecily sprang up, shaking with sobs.
"Oh, don't—don't go on," she implored. "I can't bear any more."
"There is no more," said the Story Girl. "That was the end of it—the end of everything for Margaret. It didn't kill her, but her heart died."
"I just wish I'd hold of those fellows who wouldn't let the Captain take his wife," said Peter savagely.
"Well, it was awful said," said Felicity, wiping her eyes. "But it was long ago and we can't do any good by crying over it now. Let us go and get something to eat. I made some nice little rhubarb tarts this morning."
We went. In spite of new disappointments and old heartbreaks we had appetites. And Felicity did make scrumptious rhubarb tarts!
94
