The little figure on the big bed lay motionless and with closed eyes. Such a little creature, so white, so beautiful, so wonderfully young--almost like a child, with the soft rings of silver hair wreathing the border of the snowy cap, and the little arms which always had been so strong for burdens, and the little, little hands, which always had been so busy for everybody but herself, resting now--as still and cold as snowflakes--on the deep blue of the old quilt. Looking down with dim sight and swelling heart, Lynn thought of the Divine Bambino lying asleep on its azure shield; he could think of nothing else so unearthly in its loveliness. The blue eyes opened as if Miss Judy had felt his presence, and the flicker of a smile went over the sweet, quiet face. The young man, leaning down, thought that she murmured something in apology, that she tried to say something about a gentlewoman's bedchamber. But the words were so faintly uttered, and the pauses between were so long, that he could not be sure. "Dear Miss Judy, is there anything--anything in the whole world--that I can do?" he said, with all his heart. "It is about the selling of the house. We can't depend on John Stanley to sell it--to pay himself," panted Miss Judy with long, anguished waits between the words, almost between the breaths. There was a still longer pause after this, a still longer wait for a slow wandering breeze to bring the needed breath. "Dear John," Miss Judy murmured, when she could speak again, "he must not know--till the note is paid. He doesn't quite realize what is due our father. You must overlook it, sister Sophia. He means only to be kind--so, so kind." "Just so, sister Judy," replied poor Miss Sophia, through the habit of a long lifetime, not knowing what she said. "Dear John. Dear John," Miss Judy said again, hardly louder than her fluttering breath. There was a slight movement of her hand, and although the nerveless, cold little fingers fell powerless on the old blue quilt, the girl who hung over her knew what the movement meant. Doris understood that Miss Judy wished to have the judge's letter read to her again; but before it could be drawn from beneath the pillow the blue eyes were closed, and Miss Judy seemed softly to fall asleep. In the deep silence which followed the shadowed room was filled with the hushed hum of the voices of the people waiting outside. It seemed to the watchers a long time before Miss Judy's blue eyes opened gently, yet suddenly and with a clearer look. It was a look quite like her old sweet self. There was in it even a fleeting expression almost like her old innocent artfulness. "I hope you won't mind--the--trouble," she said, going on after a long pause, after waiting for her reluctant breath to return; after waiting for her true heart to beat once more. "I--should like--you--to--to consult Doris--often."