e, lass, I want to speak to my sister," said the captain, "leave
us a bit--and there's somebody wants to see _you_ outside."

"Me, uncle!"

"Ay, _you_; look alive now."

Minnie went out in some surprise, and had barely crossed the threshold
when she found herself pinioned in a strong man's arms! A cry escaped
her as she struggled, for one instant, to free herself; but a glance was
sufficient to tell who it was that held her. Dropping her head on
Ruby's breast, the load of sorrow fell from her heart. Ruby pressed his
lips upon her forehead, and they both _rested_ there.

It was one of those pre-eminently sweet resting-places which are
vouchsafed to some, though not to all, of the pilgrims of earth, in
their toilsome journey through the wilderness towards that eternal rest,
in the blessedness of which all minor resting-places shall be forgotten,
whether missed or enjoyed by the way.

Their rest, however, was not of long duration, for in a few minutes the
captain rushed out, and exclaiming "she's swounded, lad," grasped Ruby
by the coat and dragged him into the cottage, where he found his mother
lying in a state of insensibility on the floor.

Seating himself by her side on the floor, he raised her gently, and
placing her in a half-sitting, half-reclining position in his lap, laid
her head tenderly on his breast. While in this position Minnie
administered restoratives, and the widow, ere long opened her eyes and
looked up. She did not speak at first, but, twining her arms round
Ruby's neck, gazed steadfastly into his face; then, drawing him closer
to her heart, she fervently exclaimed "Thank God!" and laid her head
down again with a deep sigh.

She too had found a resting-place by the way on that day of her
pilgrimage.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, reader, we feel bound to tell you in confidence that there are few
things more difficult than drawing a story to a close! Our tale is
done, for Ruby is married to Minnie, and the Bell Rock Lighthouse is
finished, and most of those who built it are scattered beyond the
possibility of reunion. Yet we are loath to shake hands with them and
to bid _you_ farewell.

Nevertheless, so it must be, for if we were to continue the narrative of
the after-careers of our friends of the Bell Rock, the books that should
be written would certainly suffice to build a new lighthouse.

But we cannot make our bow without a parting