"My mother wouldn't let me out of her sight at the last."
"Well I know it, poor dear. How does she find herself to-day, Bartley?"
"A bit strange, no doubt; but with my father to show her the new place. She's dead."
"Dead! Oh, Bartley!"
"Yes--thank God. Faded out at four o'clock yesterday morning. Flickered out just the same as a night-light flickers out. Wavers and shakes--then steadies down again--then gets brighter than ever--then grows dim--slowly, slowly, till there's nought but a bead of fire left. And then a flash, and then--gone. And your eyes think it's there still; but it isn't."
"Dear Bartley, I'm so sorry for you."
"Are you? But I know you are. Not many else will be--not many but me and my Aunt Susan. She's torn to the heart. I couldn't stand no more of it."
"I'll see your aunt to-morrow. I'll see her to-day."
"She'll thank you. Make it to-morrow. My dear mother wasn't a very much sought after woman--too wise for that, I expect. But you could comfort her sister. Nobody else will trouble about her."
"To-night I shall go down."