n time to meet him when he came downstairs. She
was glad that he was a stranger, so that she had to be restrained, and
to ask him in a calm, everyday voice, "What he thought of her mother?"

"You are Miss Rothesay, I believe," he answered, indirectly.

"I am."

"Is there no one to help you in nursing your mother--are you here quite
alone?"

"Quite alone."

Dr. Witherington took her hand--kindly, too. "My dear Miss Rothesay, I
would not deceive; I never do. If your mother has any relatives to send
for, any business to arrange"----

"Ah--I see, I know! Do not say any more!" She closed her eyes faintly,
and leaned against the wall. Had she loved her mother with a love less
intense, less self-devoted, less utterly absorbing in its passion, at
that moment she would have gone mad, or died.

There was one little low sigh; and then upon her great height of woe she
rose--rose to a superhuman calm.

"You would tell me, then, that there is no hope?"

He looked on the ground, and said nothing.

"And how long--how long?"

"It may be six hours--it may be twelve; I fear it cannot be more than
twelve." And then he began to give consolation in the only way that lay
in his poor power, explaining that in a frame so shattered the spirit
could not have lingered long, and might have lingered in much suffering.
"It was best as it was," he said.

And Olive, knowing all, bowed her head, and answered, "Yes." She thought
not of herself--she thought only of the enfeebled body about to be
released from earthly pain, of the soul before whom heaven was even now
opened.

"Does _she_ know? Did you tell her?"

"I did. She asked me, and I thought it right."

Thus, both knew, mother and child, that a few brief hours were all that
lay between their love and eternity. And knowing this, they again met.

With a step so soft that it could have reached no ear but that of a
dying woman, Olive re-entered the room.

"Is that my child!"

"My mother--my own mother!" Close, and wild, and strong--wild as love
and strong as death--was the clasp that followed. No words passed
between them, not one, until Mrs. Rothesay said, faintly,

"My child, are you content--quite content?"

Olive answered, "I am content!" And in her uplifted eyes was a silent
voice that seemed to say, "Take, O God, this treasure, which I give out
of my arms unto Thine! Take and keep it for me, safe until the eternal
meeting!"

Slowly the day sank, and the night came down.