I was beginning to be afraid when the nurse returned.  She was going to speak quite cheerfully, but after a glance at my mother she went out quickly and came back in a moment with Doctor Conrad and Father Dan.

I heard the doctor say something about a change, whereupon Father Dan hurried away, and in a moment there was much confusion.  The nurse spoke of taking me to another room but the doctor said: 

“No, our little woman will be brave,” and then leading me aside he whispered that God was sending for my mother and I must be quiet and not cry.

Partly undressing I climbed into my cot and lay still for the next half hour, while the doctor held his hand on my mother’s pulse and the nurse spread a linen cloth over a table and put four or five lighted candles on it.

I remember that I was thinking that if “God sending for my mother” meant that she was to be put into a box and buried under the ground it was terrible and cruel, and perhaps if I prayed to our Lady He would not find it in His heart to do so.  I was trying to do this, beginning under my breath, “O Holy Virgin, thou art so lovely, thou art so gracious . . .” when the nurse said: 

“Here they are back again.”

Then I heard footsteps outside, and going to the window I saw a sight not unlike that which I had seen on the night of the Waits.

A group of men were coming towards the house, with Father Dan in the middle of them.  Father Dan, with his coat hung over his arms like a cloak, was carrying something white in both hands, and the men were carrying torches to light him on his way.

I knew what it was—­it was the Blessed Sacrament, which they were bringing to my mother, and when Father Dan had come into the room, saying “Peace be to this house,” and laid a little white box on the table, and thrown off his coat, he was wearing his priest’s vestments underneath.

Then the whole of my father’s household—­all except my father himself—­came into my mother’s room, including Aunt Bridget, who sat with folded arms in the darkness by the wall, and the servants, who knelt in a group by the door.

Father Dan roused my mother by calling to her again, and after she had opened her eyes he began to read.  Sometimes his voice seemed to be choked with sobs, as if the heart of the man were suffering, and sometimes it pealed out loudly as if the soul of the priest were inspiring him.

After Communion he gave my mother Extreme Unction—­anointing the sweet eyes which had seen no evil, the dear lips which had uttered no wrong, and the feet which had walked in the ways of God.

All this time there was a solemn hush in the house like that of a church—­no sound within except my father’s measured tread in the room below, and none without except the muffled murmur which the sea makes when it is far away and going out.

When all was over my mother seemed more at ease, and after asking for me and being told I was in the cot, she said: