"Dr Thorpe confirmeth me in my thought," said she, "that 'twill not be long now; therefore I will fetch Father Dell." But Frances rose, and laid her hand on her sister's arm. "Nay, Philippa!" she said. "I will not have the child's last hour disturbed." "Disturbed by the priest!" exclaimed Philippa, opening her eyes. "What do ye chaffer about?" cried Lady Lisle, in her old sharp manner. "Go thy ways, Philippa, and send for the priest." The noise aroused the dying child. "Must the priest come?" asked the faint little voice from the bed. "Will Jesus not be enough?" Frances bent down to kiss her with a resolved look through all her pain. "Ay, beloved--Jesus will be enough!" she answered, "and no priest shall touch thee.--Mother! forgive me for disobeying you this once. But I pray you, by all that you hold dear and blessed, let my child die in peace! If not for my sake, or if not for hers, for their sakes--the dead which have linked you and me--let her depart in peace!" Philippa shook her head, but she sat down again. "Have your way, Frank!" answered Lady Lisle, with a strange mingling of sorrow and anger in her voice. "There is more parting us than time or earth, as I can see. I thought it sore enough, when Jack set him on his dying bed against the priest's coming; and then thou saidst never a word. But now--" "There was no need," said Frances in a quivering voice. "Have thy way, have thy way!" said her mother again. "I was used to boast there was no heresy in my house. Ah, well! we live and learn. If thou canst fashion to reach Heaven by a new road, prithee do it. Methinks it will little matter for her. And when my time cometh, thou wilt leave him come to me, maybe." There was silence for a little while afterwards, and their eyes were all turned where Honor lay, the little life ebbing away like the tide of the ocean. Her eyes were shut, and her breathing slow and laboured. Suddenly, while they watched her, she opened her eyes, lifted her head, and stretched forth her arms with a cry of pleasure. "Oh!" she said, delightedly. "Mother--it is not the angels--He is come Himself!" What she saw, how could they know? The dying eyes were clear: but a film of earth over the living ones hindered their seeing Him. For an instant hers kept fixed on something unseen by the rest, and they shone like stars. Then suddenly a shiver came over her, her eyelids drooped, and she sank back into her mother's arms. "Is she gone?" asked Lady Lisle. "With God," said Dr Thorpe reverently. Little Honor was buried at Crowe. The evening of her funeral found Isoult Avery in the painful position (for it is both painful and perplexing) of a general confidante. Each member of the family at Crowe took her aside in turn, and poured into her ear the special story of her troubles. This, as it always does, involved complaints of the others.