“It must have been dreadful for you, poor child—”
“Dreadful? No—it was strange—a sort of awe. He looked so grand, lying there amidst the white velvet! I see it now, but I didn’t think of it then—the picture comes back—”
“Yes—I’ve seen him,” said Mrs. Lauderdale, softly. “His face is beautiful now.”
“It wasn’t beautiful then—it was something else—I don’t know. I felt that the greatest thing in the world was happening—the great thing that happens to us all some day. I didn’t feel that he was dying exactly—nor that I should never hear him speak again after those last words.”
“What did he say?” asked Mrs. Lauderdale. “No,” she added, contradicting herself quickly. “If it’s anything like a secret, I don’t want to know.”
“It wasn’t. He looked at me very strangely, and then he said, quite loud, ‘Domine quo vadis?’ ”
“Lord, whither goest Thou,” said Mrs. Lauderdale, translating the familiar words to herself. “Did you say anything?”
“I answered, ‘Tendit ad astra.’ We had both said the same things once before, some time ago. He heard me, and then he died—that was all.”
At this point some one knocked at the door. Mrs. Lauderdale rose and went to see who was there. Leek, the butler, clad in deep mourning already, stood outside. There was a puzzled look in his face.
“If you please, Mrs. Lauderdale, I don’t know what to do, and I’d wish for your orders—”