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Updated: June 29, 2025
She put her hand to her forehead, which seemed almost bursting with the strange weight there. "Guilty or not guilty," she muttered, "what does it matter to me? I love him, and that is enough?" The long night passed away, as all nights, however long and dark they may be, will pass away. Margie had not slept.
"Margie," said the feeble voice, "pray for me, that peace may come." She looked at Archer, hesitated a moment, then knelt by the bedside. He stood silent, and then, urged by some uncontrollable impulse, he knelt by her side. The girlish voice, broken, but sweet as music, went up to Heaven in a petition so fervent, so simple, that God heard and answered. The peace she asked for the dying man came.
"Not from me," declared Miss Gifford. Then as if fearing complications she added more tactfully, "But of course I might not have been within reach and someone else may have given permission. Will you just step in here, dear?" to Margie.
And then followed a shower of feminine expressions of admiration from the four charming bridesmaids. "Is everything ready?" asked Margie, wearily, when at last they paused in their efforts. "Yes, everything is as perfect as one could desire," said Alexandrine. "How do you feel, Margie, dear?" "Very well, thank you." "You are so self-possessed! Now, I should be all of a tremble! Dear me!
He's looking for you. Chase yourselves, now, Marg Holt. Leave that slacker to us!" Margaret gave a start, a gasp. She looked hard at her brother. Blair wore a cool smile, underneath which there was sterner hidden meaning. Then Margaret looked at Lane with slow, deep blush, making her really beautiful. "Margie, we're for you two, strong," said Lane, with a smile. "Go hide from Swann."
Cornwood asked Miss Margie if she did not want a piece of him for her supper, declaring that he had eaten a portion of the tail, which he considered very good. The English maiden preferred beef and mutton. We did not want the alligator, and we left him where he was.
"My dear Professor," he confessed, "wisdom, of a sort, is mine; sometimes I grow weary with the weight of my experiences and wonder why the world so seldom shows me something new. But beside you I am as a babe. Tell me, what has become of the ex-jockey husband?" "She divorced him. Mind you, Margie was square, like most of those 'come-ons. She'd 'how dare' a guy that so much as looked at her.
For I loved Archer Trevlyn with a depth and fervor which your cool nature has no conception of. I love him still, though I feel convinced, from the bottom of my soul, that he is a murderer!" Her cheeks grew brilliant as red roses, her eyes sparkled like stars. Margie looked into the bewilderingly beautiful face with suspended breath.
For a moment there was a speaking silence, the young Wingate, with the blessed realization that half his world had been saved for him, flung himself on his knees, and, with his arms locked about the little girl, was calling: "Margie! Margie! Papa's little Margie girl! Do you remember papa? Oh, Margie! Do you? Do you?" Something dawned in the child's eyes something akin to a far-off memory.
Near her was Chloe, for we did not think it was necessary to confine her to the boats in these wilds of the interior. I did not believe that Griffin Leeds had followed us farther than Pilatka, though I had neither seen nor heard from him since we left him tied to the railing of the pier at Orange Park. "Run away from there, Miss Margie! This way!" screamed Chloe, with energy. "Come to me, missy!"
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