The breathing suddenly became more regular. The husband looked at his wife. He saw that she wanted to speak to him, and immediately approached his head nearer to her.
"I am going, John," said the woman in a faint tone; "I feel that I am rapidly drawing nearer the end. I know you will take care of our son, and—if ever you marry——"
Here she paused as if unable to go on.
"Oh! don't mention that, I will never marry again, dearest. I will look forward with eagerness to our second meeting. I shall meet you there, Annie," he said, and, pressing her hand between both his own, he gazed earnestly into his wife's half-closed eyes.
Mrs. Mathers sank back on her pillow, exhausted with the effort which she had made to speak those few words. Presently a change came over her face. Her husband beckoned to Marie, the servant, who hardly dared to approach, awed as she was at having to witness a person in the grip of death.
The end came, swift and pangless. The soul passed from the body to its eternal resting place.
Marie stood beside the bed, her big eyes fixed on the corpse, hardly able to believe her senses.
"But, I thought Madame was better, much better," she said, half aloud, half to herself.
"Ah! unfortunately," said the widower, "'twas only the lull before the storm—a state which is common to people dying from consumption. Make haste," he continued to the bewildered Abigail, "put the blinds down."
Marie did as she was told and the man proceeded downstairs.