Mrs. Dermot motioned to Frances not to move. She came to the other side of the bed and knelt down. “Shall we say our prayers, darling?” she said.
Abruptly Frances realized that someone else had entered also, though she had heard no sound, and looking up she saw Arthur standing just within the doorway between the two rooms.
He stood there motionless until his mother began to murmur the Lord’s Prayer, then noiselessly he crept forward and knelt close to the foot of the bed.
It came to Frances then, and she never questioned the impulse, to slip to her knees beside him. And in the hush of that quiet room, she prayed as she never prayed before.
Mrs. Dermot’s gentle voice went unfaltering on to the evening hymn.
“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide, The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide, When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O, abide with me.”
Verse after verse very softly she repeated to the dying child, and at the last Ruth’s voice joined hers, low and monotonous, murmuring the words.
“Hold Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes, Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies, Heaven’s morning breaks and earth’s vain shadows flee, In life—in death—O Lord, abide with me.”
The two voices ceased, and there fell a deep silence. How long it lasted Frances never knew. She was as one kneeling in a holy place, too near to the spiritual to reck of time. But gradually, as she knelt, there dawned upon her the consciousness of another presence in that chamber of Death. It did not surprise her when Ruth’s voice, quiet and confident, spoke in the stillness. “This is my mother!” she said. “She came to me that night at the Stones and stayed with me so as I shouldn’t be frightened. She said she would come again if God would let her. Isn’t He kind?” An odd little quiver of rapture ran through the words.
“He is always kind to His little ones, my darling,” said Mrs. Dermot very tenderly. “‘He shall gather the lambs with His arm and carry them in His bosom.’”
“That is what my mother told me,” said the child. “She says—she says—that if we only knew how beautiful it is on beyond, we should never mind going, or cry—ever—for those who went. You won’t cry when I’ve gone, dear Granny, will you?”