“The sweetest soul
That ever looked with human eyes,”
—she lingered day after day, now weaker, now rallying, until she spoke
her own conviction to me one day in late July, as I sat by, fanning
her, and no one else was present.
I smiled as she opened her large dark eyes, the only beauty left in the
wasted face, and saw me.
“You are better, dear! We shall have you up and out driving before
long.”
“No, dear child!”—infinite weariness in tone and look. “The old clock
has run clean down!”