_ingenues_, come of a remote
poor relation, who were destined never to forget the week they were
spending at the Towers in Rocestershire. The letter was scribbled across
to the effect that General Rawnsley had said he should ride over to
Chorlton to-morrow to see if he could be of any use. "The dear old man,"
said Gwen to herself. "And eighty-four years old! Oh, why--why--could
not my old darling Mrs. Picture live only three years more?... Only
three years!"

* * * * *

Ten o'clock. The time was again at hand for those last arrangements we
all know so well, when one watcher is chosen to remain by the sick man's
couch, that others may sleep; each one to be roused from forgetfulness
and peace to the sickening foreknowledge of the hour of release for all,
when the life he has it at heart to prolong, if only for a day, shall
have become a memory to perish in its turn, as one by one its survivors
grow few and fewer and follow in its track.

A night comes always when Oblivion becomes a terror, and we dare not
sleep, from fear of what our ears may hear on waking. It had come at
Strides Cottage for Granny Marrable and Gwen, and even Ruth was
conscious of a creeping dread of Death at hand, waiting on the
threshold. But she imagined herself alone in her anticipations--fancied
that "mother" and her ladyship were cherishing false hopes. She would
not allow her own to die lest she should betray fears that might after
all be just as false. Why should her mother--her new-found real
mother--be sinking, because her limbs were cold, when her speech was
still articulate, and her soft grey eyes so full of tenderness and
light?

Gwen held a little aloof, not to take more than her fair share of what
she feared was an ebbing life, although it kept so strangely its powers
of communion with the world it was leaving behind. She could hear all
the old voice said, as she had heard it before. What was that she was
saying now?

"When the baby comes you will bring it here to show to me? I may not be
up by then, to go and see it."

"The minute my daughter is strong enough to bring it, mother dear."

"She must take her time.... Is there not a little boy already?"

"Yes. He's Peter. He's a year old. He's very strong and wilful, and gets
very angry when things are not given to him."

"Ruth darling--fetch him to me to-morrow. Is it far to bring him?" There
was hunger for the baby in her beseeching voice. She migh