“It is so feeble now, I can scarcely count it.”
“Please, doctor, stay here by her while she breathes. Don’t desert the dear soul. My poor mother!”
Robert lost all control of himself, and wept like a child.
Loth to forsake him in this hour of direst trial, Dr. Grey leaned against the bed, and for some moments watched the irregular convulsive heaving of the woman’s chest.
“Oh, sir, if my mistress hadn’t a heart of stone, she would have let her die peacefully. She might at least have granted her dying prayer.”
“What was it?”
“All of yesterday afternoon she pleaded with her to be 247 baptized. My mother—God bless her dear soul!—my mother told her that she could not consent to die until she saw her baptized; and, with the tears pouring down her poor face, she begged and prayed that I might fetch the minister from town, and that she might see the ceremony performed. But my mistress walked up and down the floor, and said, ‘Never! never! I have done with mockeries. I have washed my hands of all that,—long, long ago.’ And now—it is too late; and my poor mother can never—God be merciful to us! is it all over?”
Dr. Grey raised the head, but the breathing was imperceptible and, after a little while, he softly pressed down the lids that were partially lifted from the glazed eyes, and quitted the room.
His buggy stood at the rear gate, and the driver was asleep, but his master’s voice aroused him.
“Elbert, go home, and ask Miss Salome please to come over as soon as you can drive her here.”