Mrs. Fitzpatrick rang the bell. Mrs. Grant entered; but Aveline was again abstracted.
The good old woman sat down behind the sofa, making a sign to them to be silent. She had seen for some days better than any one that the end was approaching.
"Is the tide down, Mr. Haveloc?" asked Aveline, with difficulty.
Mrs. Grant shuddered. The superstition, respecting the influence of the tides over the dying is well known. She profoundly believed that her young lady would be released when the tide changed.
Mr. Haveloc walked to the window, and looked out. The long range of low green rocks, was not yet quite uncovered by the ebbing waves. The moon gleamed over their slippery surface, and the water rose and fell bubbling among their crevices.
"Not quite yet," said he coming back to the couch.
"Not quite yet," she repeated. Then with a stronger effort, she said, "I wished to thank you both."
"My dearest!" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick bending over her.
"You are not crying!" said Aveline, trying to draw her hand in a caressing manner over her mother's face; "not for me!"
"No, not for you, my child," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.