Rachel Dane kept silence quite a little while, then she sharply ordered Janetta to go away and send Mrs. Flint.
The maid obeyed, only too glad to get away from the grewsome company of the dying woman.
Mrs. Flint came at once, wan and weary from excitement, but full of kindly sympathy.
“Rachel, I am sorry to see that you are not so well to-day,” she said.
“So you can see it? Well, I felt it myself; that’s why I wanted you. I knew you would tell me the truth. Am I going to die?” querulously.
Mrs. Flint had been by many a death-bed, and she saw the signs here, so she answered, frankly:
“Rachel, I don’t want to frighten you, but it’s time you should make your peace with God.”
The poor wretch shuddered and moaned:
“Are you sure? Did the doctor say so, ma’am?”
“He has never had any hope of your recovery, Rachel, and you are failing fast to-day. You will soon be done with this world; but, alas! you are not ready for the next one.”