Suddenly Elsie made another ghostly attempt to sit up.
"How sweet the lilac smells!" she said. "Here is London-pride, and there's thrift. I'll pluck these for Mamey."
She struggled to get out of bed, while Meg held her tight.
"Mamey calls to me—to—say—good-night—and say my prayers," she panted, and then dropped back.
The blue lips moved as if speaking; but Meg could not distinguish the words. A realization that the child was slipping away, that phantoms were about her as she stood on the threshold of the other world, came upon Meg with an anguish of awe.
"Our Father," she began softly, impelled to pray; but Elsie seemed to pay no heed. The little hands still stirred uneasily. The lips still moved. At last Meg distinguished some broken words: "Forgive us our trespasses—as—as—Meg forgives." There came a sigh, the lips stopped muttering, and only the waxen image of what had been Elsie lay on the bed.