"You varied, dear. Rather fierce at times, and again quite meek, and sometimes, terribly funny! You'd laugh, Buddy, if you could hear some of the things you said!" "Ha!" A wraith of a smile passed over the grey face. "Glad to hear it. I'd be interested, but there's not time... Where's that fool of a nurse? Keep her away; I want no one but you. Well, child, shall you grieve for me when I'm gone?" "No, Buddy, dear. I'll grieve for _myself_, but for you, I shall be glad it's over,--the pain, and the crippledom, and the dulness, and the waiting. I love you too much to want _that_ to go on. It will be better..." "Well! Well!" Lady Griselda sighed. "We'll see! Better than I deserve--I'm sure of that. I can't even say I've done my best. I _haven't_ but God knows, at the bottom of my heart I _wanted to_! I was born sour, just as you, child, were born sweet. Seems unfair. I don't understand... Lots of things we don't understand... That will be interesting--to find out!" She munched in silence for several minutes, her gaze lingering wistfully on Grizel's face, upturned in the dim light. "Good child," she said distinctly. "Good child! Kind. Loving. True. You've been a comfort to me." "Ah, Buddy, dear!" The deep, soft tone of Grizel's voice was more eloquent than a caress. "It's been so easy! We've loved each other... If it's possible where you are going, look after me still! I want to feel you are near. I'll remember you always, and your dear kindness." Lady Griselda frowned. A look of distress wrinkled her face. "Kind!" she repeated. "I _meant_ to be! I wanted you to be happy--I schemed for that--but it may be, I was wrong. I don't know, I can't think. It's too late now, but I meant well, child, remember that! I thought only of you." "Buddy," said Grizel clearly. "All the money in the world is not worth troubling about in these few last hours. Leave it alone! I shall be happy, dear; God made me happy. Rest your old head, and don't trouble. It's all quite, quite right." Lady Griselda closed her eyes. The sands were running very low, and she had not the energy to speak. Grizel fed her with sips of brandy, but she made no attempt to call the nurse, who was sleeping in another room. She also held the theory that a human soul should be allowed to die after its own fashion, even if thereby life's span were shortened by a few hours. Still on her knees she watched while the old woman dozed, and dozed again, waking up to brief moments of consciousness, but her mind had wandered from the present, and was back in the far away past.