Oliver was with them by six o’clock; he came straight up into his mother’s room to find that all was over. The room was full of the morning light and the clean air, and a bubble of bird-music poured in from the lawn. But his wife knelt by the bed, still holding the wrinkled hands of the old woman, her face buried in her arms. The face of his mother was quieter than he had ever seen it, the lines showed only like the faintest shadows on an alabaster mask; her lips were set in a smile. He looked for a moment, waiting until the spasm that caught his throat had died again. Then he put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “When?” he said. Mabel lifted her face. “Oh! Oliver,” she murmured. “It was an hour ago. ... Look at this.” She released the dead hands and showed the rosary still twisted there; it had snapped in the last struggle, and a brown bead lay beneath the fingers. “I did what I could,” sobbed Mabel. “I was not hard with her. But she would not listen. She kept on crying out for the priest as long as she could speak.” “My dear....” began the man. Then he, too, went down on his knees by his wife, leaned forward and kissed the rosary, while tears blinded him. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Leave her in peace. I would not move it for the world: it was her toy, was it not?” The girl stared at him, astonished. “We can be generous, too,” he said. “We have all the world at last. And she--she has lost nothing: it was too late.” “I did what I could.” “Yes, my darling, and you were right. But she was too old; she could not understand.” He paused. “Euthanasia?” he whispered with something very like tenderness. She nodded. “Yes,” she said; “just as the last agony began. She resisted, but I knew you would wish it.” They talked together for an hour in the garden before Oliver went to his room; and he began to tell her presently of all that had passed. “He has refused,” he said. “We offered to create an office for Him; He was to have been called Consultor, and he refused it two hours ago. But He has promised to be at our service.... No, I must not tell you where He is.... He will return to America soon, we think; but He will not leave us. We have drawn up a programme, and it is to be sent to Him presently.... Yes, we were unanimous.” “And the programme?” “It concerns the Franchise, the Poor Laws and Trade. I can tell you no more than that. It was He who suggested the points. But we are not sure if we understand Him yet.” “But, my dear---” “Yes; it is quite extraordinary. I have never seen such things. There was practically no argument.” “Do the people understand?” “I think so. We shall have to guard against a reaction. They say that the Catholics will be in danger. There is an article this morning in the _Era_. The proofs were sent to us for sanction. It suggests that means must be taken to protect the Catholics.” Mabel smiled.