tterance on waking, followed, and stood beside the bed. Granny
Marrable said:--"She is not awake yet, but I heard her." As she said
this, Gwen slipped her warm hand between the sheets, and touched the
motionless extremities; cold marble now, rather than flesh. A stone
bottle of hot water, just in contact with the feet, had heated a spot on
each, making its cold surrounding colder to the touch, and laying stress
upon its iciness. "Oh, Granny," said Gwen, trying in vain to make the
living warmth of her own hand of service, "can nothing be done?
Surely--her feet in hot water?"

But old Phoebe only shook her head. _She_ knew. It would only be to no
purpose! Better let her rest! Moreover, Gwen could not fail to notice
that the feet remained passive to her touch, never shrinking. That is
not the way of feet. Was ever foot that did not shrink from mysterious
unexpected fingers, coming from the beyond in the purlieus of a private
couch?

And yet old Maisie was alive there still, and her speech was clear,
however low. If anything, its sound savoured of revival. But she was not
clear about her whereabouts and whom she was speaking to. She seemed to
think it was Susan Burr, who "would find her thimble if she looked
underneath." Thus much and no more had come articulate from the land of
dreams. The moment after she was quite collected. Was that Phoebe, and
her Lady? This was not the conventional phrase "My lady." She was
evidently in possession of a Lady she had been guided to find by some
Guardian Angel, if, indeed, the Lady were not a Guardian Angel herself.
She went on to ask:--Where was her Ruth? When would she come?

She was coming, Ruth was, very soon. Both vouched for it. Gwen
added:--"She's gone to see her daughter, who has a little boy."

Then Granny Marrable lost her head for the first time. "She's gone to my
granddaughter," said she. "And I'm looking to have another
great-grandchild there soon, before a many days are over."

For a moment Gwen was afraid the confusion of Ruth's daughtership might
make old Maisie's head whirl, and set her fretting. She began to
explain, but explanation was not necessary. The old hand she held was
withdrawn from hers, that it might make common cause with its fellow
that old Phoebe already held. "My darling," said she, "did I not give
her to you when I ran away to the great ship? Fifty years ago,
Phoebe--fifty years ago!" There was no trace of any tear in the eye that
Gwen could still s