"That I can go to?"

She shook her head.

"No one that I can bring?"

She shook her head.

"No one is wanted by _me_ my dear. Now that may be considered past and
gone."

Not much more than a week afterwards--for this was far on in the time of
our being so together--I was bending over at her bedside with my ear down
to her lips, by turns listening for her breath and looking for a sign of
life in her face. At last it came in a solemn way--not in a flash but
like a kind of pale faint light brought very slow to the face.

She said something to me that had no sound in it, but I saw she asked me:

"Is this death?"

And I says:

"Poor dear poor dear, I think it is."

Knowing somehow that she wanted me to move her weak right hand, I took it
and laid it on her breast and then folded her other hand upon it, and she
prayed a good good prayer and I joined in it poor me though there were no
words spoke. Then I brought the baby in its wrappers from where it lay,
and I says: