Mrs. Slimmens, worthy woman, saw to Mr. Ingelow's comfort. She found a
chair and a little table and a pillow for the young gentleman, and fixed
him as agreeably as possible on the landing. The patient artist laid the
pillow upon the table and his head thereon, and slept the sleep of the
just.
The long night wore on; Miriam lay, white and still, the fluttering
breath just there and no more. After midnight she sunk lower and lower
with every passing hour. As day-dawn, pale and blank, gleamed dimly
across the night, the everlasting day dawned for her. Sinful and
suffering, she was at rest.
Only once she had spoken. Just before the last great change came, the
dulled, glazed eyes opened and fixed themselves on Mollie.
"My darling--my darling!" she whispered, with a last look of unutterable
love.
Then a shiver shook her from head to foot, the death-rattle sounded,
the eyeballs rolled upward, and Miriam was dead.
Mrs. Slimmens' wild cry brought Hugh Ingelow into the room. He crossed
the room to where Mollie knelt, rigid and cold.
"Mollie!" he whispered, bending tenderly down; "my own dear Mollie!"
She looked up vaguely, and saw who it was.
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