Old Martin Finlay lay propped up by pillows, his great, gaunt, useless
body seeming almost too large for the narrow bed wherein he lay, staring
up great-eyed at Ravenslee--live eyes in a dead face.

"It's dying I am, sorr," said he faintly, "an' it's grateful is ould
Martin for the docthers and medicine you've paid for. But it's meself
is beyand 'em all--an' it's beyand 'em I'm goin' fast. She's waitin'
for me--me little Maggie's houlding out her little hand to me--she's
waitin' for me--beyand, Holy Mary be praised! An' she's waited long
enough, sorr, my little Maggie as I loved so while the harsh words
burned upon me tongue--my little Maggie! I was bitter cruel to my little
girl, but you've been kind to me, and, sorr, I thank ye. But," continued
the dying man, slowly and feebly, "it aren't to thank yez as I wanted
ye--but to give yez something in trust for Miss Hermy--ye see, sorr, I
shant be here when she comes back to-night, I'll be with--little Maggie
when the hour strikes--my little Maggie! Norah, wife--give it to him."

Silently Mrs. Finlay opened a drawer, and turning, placed in Ravenslee's
hand a heavy gold ring curiously wrought into the form of two hands
clasping each other.

"It was my Maggie's," continued Martin, "an' I guess she valleyed
it a whole lot, sorr. I found it hid away with odds and ends as she
treasured. But she don't want it no more--she's dead, ye see, sorr--I
killed her--drowned, sorr--I drowned her. Cruel an' hard I was--shut her
out onto the streets, I did, and so--she died. But before the river
took--oh, Blessed Mary--oh, Mother O' God--pity! Before she went t'
heaven, Miss Hermy was good t' her; Miss Hermy loved her and tried t'
comfort her--but only God could do that, I reckon--so she went t' God.
But Miss Hermy was kind when I wasn't, so, sorr, it's give her that ring