"My dear daughter!" Mrs. Oldys formed the words rather than spoke them, dropping her other hand upon Poppea's so that she was held fast as it were between them.
"Why have you stayed away so long? I have thought that you were ill," the voice was clearer now. "Did Hugh break your sleep to call you?"
"No,—Mother,—I was quite awake when he said you wanted me."
"And you will stay with me to-night?"
"Yes, surely I will stay."
"Now I am at peace, my two dear children—" the fluttering eyelids closed and for a while she seemed to sleep, except that the pressure of her hands did not relax.
Presently she looked up again.
"I cannot seem to think by myself," she said, "I need something to lean upon—to carry me with it. Do you remember, Hugh, the music—the song that you and Poppy used to sing sometimes without the organ? It brought me close to the gate—perhaps it would carry me through with it to-night."
Poppea, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind, looked toward Hugh, but his face was buried in his arm. Then a calm settled over her. Loosening the robe at her throat, she straightened herself, and from her lips the notes fell soft yet clear:—
"Hark! hark, my soul; angelic songs are swelling."