unfolded it with trembling, exultant hands, and when she had made
sure that it was still of virgin fairness her old arms went round
it adoringly, and upon her face there was the ineffable mysterious
glow of motherhood. Suddenly she said, 'Wha's bairn's dead? is a
bairn of mine dead?' but those watching dared not speak, and then
slowly as if with an effort of memory she repeated our names aloud
in the order in which we were born. Only one, who should have come
third among the ten, did she omit, the one in the next room, but at
the end, after a pause, she said her name and repeated it again and
again and again, lingering over it as if it were the most exquisite
music and this her dying song. And yet it was a very commonplace
name.

They knew now that she was dying. She told them to fold up the
christening robe and almost sharply she watched them put it away,
and then for some time she talked of the long lovely life that had
been hers, and of Him to whom she owed it. She said good-bye to
them all, and at last turned her face to the side where her best-
beloved had lain, and for over an hour she prayed. They only
caught the words now and again, and the last they heard were 'God'
and 'love.' I think God was smiling when He took her to Him, as He
had so often smiled at her during those seventy-six years.

I saw her lying dead, and her face was beautiful and serene. But
it was the other room I entered first, and it was by my sister's
side that I fell upon my knees. The rounded completeness of a
woman's life that was my mother's had not been for her. She would
not have it at the price. 'I'll never leave you, mother.' - 'Fine
I know you'll never leave me.' The fierce joy of loving too much,
it is a terrible thing. My sister's mouth was firmly closed, as if