“I have not sent for you before, Philip, for two reasons—­first, because I wished to spare you pain; and next, in order that I might have time to rid my mind of angry thoughts against you.  They are all gone now—­gone with every other earthly interest; but I was angry with you, Philip.  And now listen to me—­for I have not much time—­and do not forget my words in future years, when the story of my life will seem but as a shadow that once fell upon your path.  Change your ways, Philip dear, abandon deceit, atone for the past; if you can, make your peace with Maria Lee, and marry her—­ah! it is a pity that you did not do that at first, and leave me to go my ways—­and, above all, humble your heart before the Power that I am about to face.  I love you, dear, and, notwithstanding all, I am thankful to have been your wife.  Please God, we shall meet again.”

She paused awhile, and then spoke in English.  To the astonishment of all, her voice was strong and clear, and she uttered her words with an energy that, under the circumstances, seemed almost awful.

“Tell her to bring the child.”

There was no need for Philip to repeat what she said, for Pigott heard her, and at once came forward with the baby, which she laid beside her.

The dying woman placed her hand upon its tiny head, and, turning her eyes upwards with the rapt expression of one who sees a vision, said—­

“May the power of God be about you to protect you, my motherless babe, may angels guard you, and make you as they are; and may the heavy curse and everlasting doom of the Almighty fall upon those who would bring evil upon you.”

She paused, and then addressed her husband.

“Philip, you have heard my words; in your charge I leave the child, see that you never betray my trust.”

Then, turning to Pigott, she said, in a fainter voice—­

“Thank you for your kindness to me.  You have a good face; if you can, stop with my child, and give her your love and care.  And now, may God have mercy on my soul!”

Then came a minute’s silence, broken only by the stifled sobs of those who stood around, till a ray of light from the rising sun struggled through the grey mist of the morning, and, touching the heads of mother and child, illumined them as with a glory.  It passed as quickly as it came, drawing away with it the mother’s life.  Suddenly, as it faded, she spread out her arms, sighed, and smiled.  When the doctor reached the bed, her story was told:  she had fallen asleep.

Death had been very gentle with her.

CHAPTER XIII