"God has given you the power," she said gently. "God has given you an instrument which cannot fail you. My Nora"—her voice failed her an instant—"a little child shall lead them"—she finished from afar off.
Nora covered her face with her hands.
"It is too late," she said huskily. "Not even that can help me now."
Her mother made no answer. She lay still with closed eyes, and a peaceful smile smoothed away the lines of pain from the sweet mouth. She was so quiet and the smile was so unchanging, so full of an almost unearthly wisdom, that every protest died in Nora's heart. She crept nearer to the bedside, awe-struck and afraid, as though already the curtain had fallen which was to divide them in the future life.
"Mother!" she whispered faintly.
The serene eyes opened, the smile became infinitely tender.
"My little girl—leave me now. I am so tired, so weary. I shall be glad to sleep. Remember what I said. Kiss me."
Nora obeyed. For one instant she lay like a child in the feeble arms, overwhelmed by a frightful forewarning of a pain she was yet to know in all its intensity.
"Good night, my darling," Mrs. Ingestre whispered.
Nora crept softly away. She thought that her mother had spoken from amidst her dreams and had forgotten that it was still daylight. Yet the tender farewell haunted her as she went downstairs, and it haunted her long afterwards, when the speaker's face was obscured in the shadows of memory.