'You know who I am?' he said again.
She knew him, and took leave of him. She took leave of each of her daughters, but in a calm, weak way, as one who had waded too far into the river of death to be much concerned with the things of earth.
The doctor pressed her hand, and the faithful nurse. The minister, feeling that justice should be done to one whose wit had brought great relief, bid the maid go forward.
She was weeping, but she spoke in the free, caressing way that she had used so long.
The dying eyes looked her full in the face, but gave no recognition.
'It's Jeanie Trim.'
'Na, na, I remember a Jeanie Trim long syne, but you're not Jeanie Trim!'
The maid drew back discomfited.
The minister began to repeat a psalm that she loved. The daughters sat on the bedside, holding her hands. So they waited, and she seemed to follow the meaning of the psalm as it went on, until suddenly——