The woman by the bed turned round and stared for a moment; then--
"Be you the young lady as Mrs. Miriam sent my Sammy for?" she asked.
"Yes," said Mollie, coming forward. "How is she?"
"Bad as bad can be, miss. Won't never see another day, the doctor says."
"My poor Miriam--my poor Miriam!"
The slow tears gathered in her eyes as she bent above her and saw the
pinched, sharpened face, with the blue tinge of coming death already
dawning there.
"Be you a relation?" the woman asked, curiously. But Mollie did not
answer--she was stooping over the sick woman, absorbed.
"Miriam!" she said, softly, taking the skinny hand in both her
own--"Miriam, look up! Speak to me. It is I--your own Mollie."
The sound of that beloved voice penetrated the death fog already
blurring every faculty. The dulled eyes opened with a sudden, joyful
light of recognition.
"Mollie," she said, "my dear little Mollie. I knew you would come."
"I am very, very sorry to see you like this, Miriam. Do you suffer much
pain?"
"Not now--only a dull aching from head to foot.
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