"Not one whit too much. Don't let us waste words over a trifle. Let us go up."
He ran lightly up the rickety staircase, and Mollie, pausing a moment to tap at Mrs. Slimmens' door, and ask her to share her last vigil, slowly followed, and returned to the solemn chamber of death.
Mrs. Slimmens, worthy woman, saw to Mr. Ingelow's comfort. She found a chair and a little table and a pillow for the young gentleman, and fixed him as agreeably as possible on the landing. The patient artist laid the pillow upon the table and his head thereon, and slept the sleep of the just.
The long night wore on; Miriam lay, white and still, the fluttering breath just there and no more. After midnight she sunk lower and lower with every passing hour. As day-dawn, pale and blank, gleamed dimly across the night, the everlasting day dawned for her. Sinful and suffering, she was at rest.
Only once she had spoken. Just before the last great change came, the dulled, glazed eyes opened and fixed themselves on Mollie.
"My darling—my darling!" she whispered, with a last look of unutterable love.
Then a shiver shook her from head to foot, the death-rattle sounded, the eyeballs rolled upward, and Miriam was dead.
Mrs. Slimmens' wild cry brought Hugh Ingelow into the room. He crossed the room to where Mollie knelt, rigid and cold.
"Mollie!" he whispered, bending tenderly down; "my own dear Mollie!"
She looked up vaguely, and saw who it was.