leaning on the pillow as before, took a
hand that barely closed on hers, and spoke. "What is it, Mrs. Picture
dear? Say it again."

"Is it all true?"

What could Gwen have said but what she did say? "Yes, dear Mrs. Picture,
quite true. It is your own sister Phoebe beside you here, and your child
Ruth, grown up."

"Maisie darling, I am Phoebe--Phoebe herself." It was all Granny
Marrable could find voice for, and Ruth was hard put to it to say:--"You
are my mother." And as each of these women spoke she bent over the white
face of the dying woman, and kissed it through the speechlessness their
words had left upon their lips.

It was not quite old Mrs. Picture's last word of all. A few minutes
later she seemed to make weak efforts towards speech. If Gwen, listening
close, heard rightly, she was saying, or trying to say:--"You are my
Lady, that came with the accident, are you not?"

"Is there anything you want me to do for you?" For Gwen thought she was
trying to say more. "It is about someone. Who?"

"Susan Burr...."

"Yes--you want me to give her some message?"

"Susan ... to have my furniture ... for her own."

"Yes--I will see to that.... And--and what?"

"Kiss Dave and Dolly for me."

They watched the scarcely breathing, motionless figure on the bed for
the best part of an hour, and could mark no change that told of death,
nor any sign that told of life. Then Granny Marrable said:--"What was
that?" And Gwen answered, as she really thought:--"It was the clock."
For she took it for the warning on the stroke of midnight. But old
Phoebe said, with a strangely unfaltering voice:--"No--it is the
change!" and the sob that broke the silence was not hers, but Ruth's.
Old Mrs. Picture had just lived to complete her eighty-first year.

* * * * *

There came a sound of wheels in the road without. Not the doctor,
surely, at this time of night! No--for the wheels were not those of his
gig. Ruth, going out to the front-door, was met by a broad provincial
accent--her son-in-law's. Gwen heard it fall to a whisper before the
news of Death; then earnest conversation in an undertone. Gwen was aware
that old Phoebe rose from her knees at the bedside, and went to listen
through the door. Then she heard her say with a quiet self-restraint
that seemed marvellous:--"Tell him--tell John that I will come.... Come
back here and speak to me." She thought she caught the words as Ruth
returned:--"I must