And that gentleman determined that if he could manage it her wish should be granted.
Accordingly, when the Queen had visited the “Grocers Company’s Wing,” and had named the new wards after herself and the Princess Beatrice, when she had read the address presented to her by the governors of the Hospital, had declared the new wing open, and visited the Gloucester Ward, then Flo’s little story was told to her, and she at once said she would gratify the child’s desire.
Contrary to the routine of the day, she would pay the Buxton Ward a visit.
Flo, quite sure that it was God’s wish that the great Queen of England should come to see her, was prepared, and lay in her pretty white cot, her chestnut hair tied back with blue ribbons, a slight flush on her pale cheeks, her brown eyes very bright.
It was a fair little picture, fair even to the eyes that had doubtless looked on most of the loveliest things of earth—for on the beautiful face of the dying child was printed the seal of God’s own peace.
“My darling,” said the Queen to the little girl, “I hope you will be a little better now.”
But Queen Victoria knew, and the nurses knew, and the doctors knew, and all knew, but little Flo Darrell herself, that on earth the child would never be well again.
They knew that the little pilgrim from earth to heaven, had nearly completed her journey, that already her feet—though she herself knew not of it—were in the waters of Jordan, and soon she would pass from all mortal sight, through the gates into the City.