sing; indeed,
the simple art which her mother had taught her, had died, with her
early joyousness, at that dear mother's death. But now she sang
continually, very soft and low. She went from one childish ditty to
another without let or pause, keeping a strange sort of time with
her pretty fingers, as they closed and unclosed themselves upon the
counterpane. She never looked at any one with the slightest glimpse
of memory or intelligence in her face; no, not even at Leonard.

Her strength faded day by day; but she knew it not. Her sweet lips
were parted to sing, even after the breath and the power to do so had
left her, and her fingers fell idly on the bed. Two days she lingered
thus--all but gone from them, and yet still there.

They stood around her bedside, not speaking, or sighing, or moaning;
they were too much awed by the exquisite peacefulness of her look
for that. Suddenly she opened wide her eyes, and gazed intently
forwards, as if she saw some happy vision, which called out a lovely,
rapturous, breathless smile. They held their very breaths.

"I see the Light coming," said she. "The Light is coming," she said.
And, raising herself slowly, she stretched out her arms, and then
fell back, very still for evermore.

They did not speak. Mr Davis was the first to utter a word.

"It is over!" said he. "She is dead!"

Out rang through the room the cry of Leonard:

"Mother! mother! mother! You have not left me alone! You will not
leave me alone! You are not dead! Mother! Mother!"

They had pent in his agony of apprehension till then, that no wail of
her child might disturb her ineffable calm. But now there was a cry
heard through the house, of one refusing to be comforted: "Mother!
Mother!"

But Ruth lay dead.

CHAPTER XXXVI

The End

A stupor of grief succeeded to Leonard's passionate cries. He became
so much depressed, physically as well as mentally, before the end of
the day, that Mr Davis was seriously alarmed for the consequences. He
hailed with gladness a proposal made by the Farquhars, that the boy
should be removed to their house, and placed under the fond care of
his mother's friend, who sent her own child to Abermouth the better
to devote herself to Leonard.

When they told him of this arrangement, he at first refused to go and
leave _her_; but when Mr Benson said:

"_She_ would have wished it, Leonard! Do it for her sake!" he went
away very quietly; not speaking a word, after Mr Ben