"Ah, Master Scott, and is it yourself?" she whispered. "I was coming to fetch ye—coming to tell ye. It's the call; she's had her last summons. Faith, and I almost heard it meself. She'll be gone by morning, the blessed lamb. There'll be no holding her after this."
Scott passed her by without a word. He went straight to his sister's bedside.
She was lying with her face turned up to the evening sky, but on the instant her eyes met his, and in them was that look of a great expectation which many term the Shadow of Death.
"Oh, Stumpy, is it you?" she said. Her breathing was quick and irregular, but it did not seem to hurt her. "I've had—such a wonderful—dream. Or could it have been—a vision?"
He bent and took her hand in his. His eyes were infinitely tender. All the passion had been wiped out of his face.
"It may have been a vision, dear," he said.
Her look brightened; she smiled. "He was here—in this room—with me," she said. "He was standing there—at the foot of the bed. And—and—I held out my arms to him. Oh, Stumpy, I almost thought—I was going with him then. But—I think he heard you coming, for he laughed and drew back. 'We shall meet in the morning,' he said. And while I was still looking, he was gone."
She began to pant. He stooped and raised her. She clung to him with all her waning strength. "Stumpy! Stumpy! You will help me—through the night?"
"My darling, yes," he said.
She clung to him still. "It won't be—good-bye," she urged softly. "You will be coming too—very soon."