We came in, brought of
_Alice_, and _Mother_ sat down by the bed, while I sat in the window
with _Alice_.

_Blanche_ looked up at _Mother_ when she spake some kindly words unto
her.

"I am going, Lady _Lettice_!" was the first thing she said.

"I do trust, dear heart, if the Lord will, Dr _Bell's_ skill may yet
avail for thee," saith _Mother_. "But if not, _Blanche_--"

_Blanche_ interrupted her impatiently, with a question whereof the tone,
yet more than the words, made my blood run cold.

"_Whither_ am I going?"

"Dear _Blanche_," said _Mother_, "the Lord _Jesus Christ_ is as good and
as able to-day as ever He were."

There was a little impatient movement of her head.

"Too late!"

"Never too late for Him," saith _Mother_.

"Too late for me," _Blanche_ made answer. "You mind the text--last
_Sunday_. I loved idols--after them I _would_ go!"

She spoke with terrible pauses, caused by that hard, labouring breath.

_Mother_ answered, as I knew, from the Word of God.

"`Yet return again to me,' saith the Lord."

"I cannot return. I never came."

"Then `come unto Me, all ye that are weary and laden.' `The Son of Man
is come to seek and to save that which was lost.'"

_Blanche_ made no answer. She only lay still, her eyes fixed on
_Mother_, which did essay for to show her by God's Word that she might
yet be saved if she so would. Methought when _Mother_ stayed, and rose
to kiss her as she came thence, that surely _Blanche_ could want no
more. Her only word to _Mother_ was--

"Thanks."

Then she beckoned to me, and I came and kissed her. _Mother_ was gone
to speak with Mistress _Lewthwaite_, and _Alice_ withal. _Blanche_ and
I were alone.

"Close!" she said: and I bent mine ear to her lips. "Very kind--Lady
_Lettice_. But--too late."

"O _Blanche_!" I was beginning: but her thin weak hand on mine arm
stayed further speech.

"Hush! _Milisent_--thank God--thou art not as I. Thank God--and keep
clean. Too late for me. Good-bye."

"O _Blanche_, _Blanche_!" I sobbed through my tears. The look in her
eyes was dreadful to me. "The Lord would fain have thee saved, and
wherefore dost thou say `too late'?"

"I want it not," she whispered.

"_Blanche_," I cried in horror. "What canst thou mean? Not want to be
saved from Hell! Not want to go to Heaven!"

"From Hell--ay. But not--to go to Heaven."

"But there is none other place!" cried I.

"I know. Would there were!"

I bel