Lucy bent over her with her ear to the failing lips, but she could not catch the faint, broken words.
'I cannot hear you, dear,' she said, while her tears fell on the meekly folded hands that were groping no longer. 'I cannot catch what you say. Is it about the Master?'
She had touched the right chord—the only chord that stretched across the gulf—and the feeble lips moved. They only framed a single word:
'Where?'
'Where is the Master?' Lucy said eagerly. 'Oh, he is waiting for you at the gate. His last—last message was: "I shall see her at the gate!"'
The face on the pillow changed. It changed as Lucy bent over it.
The great, solemn change! Over all the weakness and the weariness came, not a shadow, but a light—the wondrous light of the full fruition of her changeless love.