“Yes, my love,” the old lady said, recovering a little, and recognizing her. “You said it was morning time, and a thrush was singing on the tree outside. I think I hear it.” “You do; listen, dear, listen!” and Mrs. North turned her face towards the window, as though she were listening, and looked at Aunt Anne’s face, as if to put life into her. And as she did so there came upon her ears a joyful sound, the one she most longed to hear in the world—the sound of carriage wheels. “They have come,” she said; “thank God! they have come.” Aunt Anne seemed to understand; an expression of restfulness came over her face; she closed her eyes, as if satisfied. Mrs. North was in despair; it seemed as if they would be a moment too late. “Dearest old lady, they have come! they are in the garden! Wake up—wake up, to see them. Stay, let me prop you up a little bit more.” She could scarcely say the words, her heart was so full. “There, now you can see the fir-trees and the sunshine. Kiss me once, dear Aunt Anne; I am going to fetch your children”—and she gently drew her arms away. The Hibberts were in the house—they were on the stairs already. Mrs. North met them. “You are just in time,” she whispered to Florence—“she has waited.” Mrs. Hibbert could not speak, but she stopped one moment to put her arms round Mrs. North’s neck, and then went on. “Come with us,” Walter said. “No,” Mrs. North answered chokingly, while the tears ran down her face. “She is waiting for you. Go in to her. I have no business there.” Without a word they went to Aunt Anne. Like a flash there came over Florence the remembrance of the day when she had first entered the room, and had thought that it looked like a room to die in. The old lady did not make a sign. For a moment they stood by her silently. Florence stooped, and kissed the coverlet. “Dear Aunt Anne,” they said tenderly, “we have come.” Then a look of joy spread over the old lady’s face. She made one last struggle to speak. “My dear Walter and Florence,” she said, and stopped for a moment. “I have not been able—to make any preparation for your arrival—but Mrs. North——” She stopped again, and her eyes closed. They went a little nearer to each other, and stood watching. The scent of the fresh spring air filled the room. The sunshine was passing over the house. But all was still—so still that Florence looked up, with a questioning look of fear upon her face. Walter bent over the bed for a moment, then gently put his arm round his wife’s shoulder. Aunt Anne had journeyed on. THE END PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. TRANSCRIBER NOTES Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed. Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.