take effect.

"My dear," Isabel said, in her voice the deep music of maternal
tenderness, "I am not needing it. I shall not need any earthly things for
long. I am going to meet my husband in the dawning. But you--you will go
back."

She fastened the coat with a quiet dexterity that made Dinah think again
of Scott, and sat down again in her corner as if unconscious of the cold.

"Come and lie in my arms, little one!" she said. "Perhaps you will be
able to sleep."

Dinah crept close. "It will kill you--it will kill you!" she sobbed. "Oh,
why did I let you?"

Isabel's arms closed about her. "Don't cry, dear!" she murmured fondly.
"It is nothing to me. A little sooner--a little later! If you had
suffered what I have suffered you would say as I do, 'Dear God, let it be
soon!' There! Put your head on my shoulder, dear child! See if you can
get a little sleep! You have cared for me long enough. Now I am going to
care for you."

With loving words she soothed her, calming her as though she had been a
child in nightmare terror, and gradually a certain peace began to still
the horror in Dinah's soul. An unmistakable drowsiness was stealing over
her, a merciful lethargy lulling the sensibilities that had been so
acutely tried. Her weakness was merging into a sense of almost blissful
repose. She was no longer conscious of the anguish of the cold. Neither
did the darkness trouble her. And the comfort of Isabel's arms was rest