Four years had she ministered to the whims, the caprices, the erratic impulses of that most erratic of all creations, an eccentric old woman; and exalting the good which she found, and pardoning the frailties she could not blind her eyes to, her presence had become a sweet necessity to the world-weary dowager, who repaid it by unceasing exactions and doting outbursts of gratitude; and there had been much love between these two.
Paler waxed the high patrician face, darker grew the violet circles beneath her heavy eyes.
Margaret clasped her hands convulsively.
"Will she go before seven?" whispered she.
Old Dr. Gay stooped low and listened to the labored inspiration.
"Going—going fast," he said, with faltering lips.
A wail burst from the crowd of servants standing by the door; sobs and tears attested to the love they had borne their dying mistress.
"Hush!" whispered Margaret. "Do not awake her."
"They'll never wake her more," said Dr. Gay, mournfully.
She turned at that with terror in her eyes; she laid a small, strong hand upon the doctor's arm and clung to it convulsively.