“Pray what is it, Mrs. Trapes?” A feeble whisper, but, at the sound, faint though it was, Mrs. Trapes started, half rose from her chair, sank down again heavily and letting fall her knitting, stared at the invalid.

“Land sakes, alive!” she gasped.

“Now you’ve dropped it!” said Ravenslee, his voice a little stronger.

“Oh, dear beloved land o’ my fathers—­it’s come!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “the Lord be praised for evermore, it’s come!”

“What has?”

“The turn!  And you’ve took it!  Doctor Dennison says last night as you’d take it soon one way or t’ other.  But all night long while they waited and watched here, you’ve laid so pale an’ still as a corp’.  An’ now, while I’m a-settin’ here, you go an’ take th’ turn so sudden as fair takes my breath away, Lord be praised!  I mean—­I mean—­oh, I guess I’ll go wake the doctor.”

“But you haven’t told me what it is,” said Ravenslee drowsily.

“What what is?”

“That very peculiar—­woolly thing.”

“This?” said Mrs. Trapes, picking up the object in question, “this is my knittin’.  Doctor said t’ call him th’ moment th’ turn came—­” Her voice seemed to sink to a slumberous murmur as, having smoothed his pillow, she crossed the room and very softly closed the door behind her; wherefore Ravenslee blinked sleepily at the door until its panels seemed slowly to become confused and merge one into another, changing gradually to a cloud, soft, billowy, and ever growing until it had engulfed him altogether, and he sank down and down into unknown deeps of forgetfulness and blessed quietude.

* * * * *

She was knitting; knitting a shapeless something in red wool, and Ravenslee thought he had never known her elbows more threatening of aspect nor seen wool quite so red and woolly; wherefore he presently spoke, and his voice was no longer a feeble croak.

“Pray what is it, Mrs. Trapes?”

Mrs. Trapes jumped.

“Well, for th’ love o’ heaven!” she exclaimed, and down fell her knitting.

“Now you’ve dropped it!” said Ravenslee a little petulantly.

“Your very—­identical—­words!” said Mrs. Trapes in awed tones.  “Nacher sure ’moves in a mysterious way her wonders to perform’!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean as them was the identical words as you addressed to me when you took th’ turn two days ago!”

“Two days!” exclaimed Ravenslee, staring.

“Ever since you did take the turn two days ago, you’ve laid there so quiet an’ peaceful—­no more dreams an’ ravin’—­you’ve jest laid there ‘wrapped in infant slumbers pure an’ light’, Mr. Geoffrey—­Ravenslee, I mean.”

“Why then, it’s about time I got up.  If you’ll kindly—­er—­retire and send Patterson, I’ll get dressed.”

“Dressed?” echoed Mrs. Trapes, hollow-voiced and grim.  “Get up?  Lord, Mr. Geoffrey!”