Then again Ruth spoke with that soft thrill of gladness that made her think of the first faint call of a bird in the dawning.
“My mother is waiting for me,” she said. “She is going to take me out to the stars. Do you mind if I go, dear Granny? I would like to go so much.”
There was a brief pause. Then: “I don’t mind, my darling,” Mrs. Dermot answered very softly, and added as if to herself, “God knows best.”
“I shall always be happy with my mother,” said little Ruth. “And when you come, we shall all be happy together.”
She sank into silence again, and for a space no one moved or spoke. Frances realized that Ruth’s breathing was getting feebler, but there was no distress of any sort. Like the flame of a spent candle the little life was slowly flickering out.
She heard the soft stirring of the night-wind in the trees of the garden and the patter of falling rain-drops. And the great peace in which the world was wrapped came into the quiet room like a benediction, so that presently she was scarcely aware of any other presence there than that of the Angel upon the threshold.
It seemed to her a long while before Ruth spoke again, and then it was to utter her own name.
“Dear Miss Thorold, are you there?”
She rose up quickly. “Yes, darling, yes. What is it?”
The blue eyes with their mysterious fire gazed straight up to hers. “You’ll find it up by the Stones,” said the child, “where the giant hare-bells grow. That is the message, dear Miss Thorold. And when you find it, keep it—always—always—always!” Her breath caught suddenly, stopped, went on again with a gasp. “Because God sent it for you—and He wants you to have it. Do you understand? If you don’t, it doesn’t matter—so long as you keep on looking. You’ll know it when you find it, because it’s—it’s the most precious thing in the world.” She broke off, and for a few seconds it was as if she had forgotten to breathe, so still was she, so utterly without any suggestion of pain. Then, very faintly, her voice came again.