Well, I was once more in England, and because she wished it I was allowed to see Nelly. She lay on her cushions very pale and white, but for the red spot on each cheek, and an unnatural brightness of the eyes. I knew it was a matter of time, and all that we could do was to wait and hope.
It came at last, one dreary evening, when the lamps were burning dimly in the streets through the ceaseless, insistent drizzle. I cannot linger over this or my heart would break. We stood by her, sad and silent, waiting for the end. It was not long in coming. She had been as it were asleep, when suddenly she awoke and her voice was strong with the strength of death. She called to me:
"Mr. Thring, you know that story about John. Is--is it true?"
Oh, the chattering ape who had killed her! Her mother's eyes met mine; but I could see nothing but Nelly--Nelly looking at me with a wistful entreaty. I could not; right or wrong, I could not.
"It is not true, dear. He will come back to you."
"Say that again."
"He will come back to you, Nelly."
"He must follow," and she closed her eyes with a sweet smile on her lips.
Then my dear's hand went out to clasp mine in thanks, and I held the chill fingers in my grasp.
"Mother--kiss me. John--you will come," and she was gone.