It was as Graham said; all was nearly over. The feeble life,
that with careful tending and cherishing might have flickered
and lingered on yet a little longer, was all but quenched in
this last supreme passion and effort. M. Linders never spoke
again, and died in less than two hours, quietly at last, as
men do for the most part die, it is said.
"That poor child!" said Graham, "who will tell her?"
"I will," said the brave, cheery little Soeur Angelique, and
went.
* * * * * *
It was nearly midnight when the sad little bustle that had
been going on in the chamber of death was hushed at last, and
the Soeur de Charite prepared to depart. She had offered indeed
to stay all night, but when Graham assured her that there was
no occasion for any one to remain, as his room was just
opposite, and he should be on the watch to see that all was
quiet, she owned that she should be glad to go, as there was
much illness about, and her services might be required
elsewhere. She stood talking to Graham for a few moments
before leaving.
"That poor little one," she said, "I should like to have one
look at her, just to see that she is quiet; I don't think she
half understood, or took in, what I said to her.
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