"I'm very tired," said the sick woman in reply. And again her thin voice sounded irritable.
Catherine sat down by her and held her hand tightly, as if that grasp could keep her in this life. A few minutes passed. Then there was the sound of a cab in the Square. It ceased in front of the house. Catherine could scarcely breathe. She bent down to the dying woman.
"Mother!"
"Well?"
"Mother, he has come—but I want to tell you something—are you listening?"
"Move the pillow."
Catherine did so.
"Mother, I want to tell you. William Foster is——"
The bedroom door opened and Mark entered softly. Catherine stood up, still holding her mother's hand, which was now very cold. Mark came to the bed on tiptoe.
"Mother," Catherine said, "William Foster"—Mark started—"is here. Tell him—tell him."