Phipps had dashed all the hopes which had risen
afresh with the morning, and sent her to the sick-room unnerved and full
of fears.

But face to face with her granny, so calm and placid and content, fears
seemed wicked, out of place.

"Audrey, dear, before I have my sleep I want to say something to you in
case, later, I may not be able to. When I am gone there are certain
things which I wish you children to have. The lawyer knows--it is all
written down--but I wanted to tell you myself. I want to ask you--and to
ask the others through you--when you wear them to wear them not as
ornaments only, but as reminders; will you, dear Audrey? As reminders
to--to give your sympathy and love, while it can help, not only at the
hour of parting. That is where I have failed. I see it now, and ask
God's pardon." For a moment there was silence in the quiet room; a tear
fell from the dying eyes. Audrey's were falling fast.

Presently the weak voice began again. "To you, Audrey, I have given my
pearl brooch, and the ring your grandfather gave me as my engagement-ring.
You will value it, will you not, dear? I wish you not to wear the ring
until you are eighteen. I was just eighteen when he gave it to me.
To Faith I am giving my ruby cross and brooch--Faith with her warm heart
glowing with kindness towards the world, always reminds me of rubies.
Tom is to have his grandfather's watch and chain, and Debby is to have
mine. To Baby I have given my string of pearls." Her voice had grown
more and more feeble, and now for a moment died away. But very soon she
spoke again. It was as though she felt she had not much time, and could
not waste a moment of it. "To you, dear, I leave my work-table, too; you
loved it so when you were very little. Do you remember?"

Audrey smiled as the memory came back to her of the joy with which she had
turned it out, and dusted and rearranged it daily. But her smile changed
to tears. "Granny, granny, you must get well, and use it again yourself.
There is your work in it now, waiting to be finished."

A little flicker of pain passed over granny's face. "I shall never finish
it now," she whispered. "Whenever the end comes, one leaves many things
undone. Some do not matter so very much. It is the thought of the things
that do matter--neglected--those we might have helped, that stab one to
the heart."

With a deep sigh she turned her face on her pillow. Audrey, kneeling
beside her, holding