We hurried on then to the end of the lane which leads up to _Mere Lea_. Looking up at the house, whereof the upper windows can be seen, we saw all dark and closed up: and in _Blanche's_ window, where of late the light had burned day and night, there was now only pitch darkness. She needed no lights now: for she was either in the blessed City where they need no light of the sun, or else cast forth into the blackness of darkness for ever. Oh, which should it be? "_Milisent_!" said a low, sorrowful voice beside me; and mine hand clasped _Robin Lewthwaite's_. "When was it, _Robin_?" "Two hours gone," he saith, mournfully. "_Robin_," I could not help whispering, "said she aught comfortable at the last?" "She never spake at all for the last six hours," he made answer. "But the last word she did say was--the publican's prayer, _Milly_." "Then there is hope!" I thought, but I said it not to _Robin_. So we came home and told the sorrowful tidings. SELWICK HALL, FEBRUARY YE XXV. I was out in the garden this morrow, picking of snowdrops to lay round _Blanche's_ coffin. My back was to the gate, when all suddenly I heard Dr _Bell's_ voice say--"_Milisent_, is that thou?" I rose up and ran to the gate, where he sat on his horse. "Well, _Milly_," saith he, "the shutters are up at _Mere Lea_." "Ay, we know it, Doctor," said I, sadly. "Poor maid!" saith he. "A life flung away! And it might have been so different!" I said nought, for the tears burned under mine eyelids, and there was a lump in my throat that let me from speech. "I would thou wouldst say, _Milly_," goeth on Dr _Bell_, "to my Lady and Mistress _Joyce_, that daft _Madge_ (as methinks) shall not pass the day, and she hath a rare fantasy to see Mistress _Joyce_ once more. See if it may be compassed. Good morrow." I went in forthwith and sought Aunt _Joyce_, which spake no word, but went that instant moment and tied on her hood and cloak: and so did I mine. 'Twas nigh ten o' the clock when we reached old _Madge's_ hut. We found daft _Madge_ in her bed, and seemingly asleep. But old _Madge_ said 'twas rather a kind of heaviness, whence she would rouse if any spake to her. Aunt _Joyce_ leaned over her and kissed her brow. "Eh, 'tis Mistress _Joyce_!" saith _Madge_, feebly, as she oped her eyes. "That's good. He's let me have _all_ I wanted." "Art comfortable, _Madge_?" "Close to th' gate. I'm lookin' to see 't open and _Mother_ come out. Willn't she be pleased?" Aunt _Joyce_ wiped her eyes, but said nought. "Say yon again, Mistress _Joyce_," saith _Madge_. "What, my dear heart?" "Why, _you_," saith _Madge_. "Over seeing th' King. Dinna ye ken?" "Eh, Mistress _Joyce_, but ye ha' set her up some wi' that," saith old _Madge_. "She's talked o' nought else sin', scarce." Aunt _Joyce_ said it once more. "`Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty: they shall behold the Land that is very far off.'"