in the center of this window there sat in a high,
carved chair a very old woman.]

"_For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday
when it is past, and as a watch in the night._"

The grave, steady voice flowed out and mingled with the silver
lamplight; the marble sill of the long window was white like the
sill of a tomb.

"_We spend our years as a tale that is told._

"_The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and
if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is
their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off,
and we fly away._"

The hot excitement of this magic night cooled slowly; over
Caroline's bubbling spirit there fell a mild, strange calm. A breath
from the very caverns of the infinite stole out along the path of
that silver lamp, and in the grave, surrendered voice there sounded
for the child upon life's threshold echoes of the final tolling.

Entranced by the measured cadences, Caroline stepped forward
unconsciously and stood, white against the gray stone, full in the
path of the lamp. The heavy, wrinkled lids raised themselves from
the deep-set eyes, and the aged reader gazed calmly at the little
figure across the court. The withered old hands clasped each other.

"Jemmy! O _Jemmy_!"

Caroline never moved.

"It _is_ you, Jemmy!"

The faded eyes devoured the little white figure.

"I thought you'd never come, Jemmy--but I knew they'd send you. I'm
all ready. Don't you think I'm afraid, Jemmy: I'm eighty-four years
old, and I want to go."

Caroline hardly breathed; a nameless awe held her motionless and
silent.

"You see, I don't sleep much any more, Jemmy," the old, toneless
voice went on, "and hardly any at night. They're very kind, all of
them, but I'm--I'm eighty-four years old, and I want to go."

The ivory tulips gleamed under the stars; the silver lamp, burned
lower and lower: its oil was nearly gone.

"And you brought your yellow kitty, too, Jemmy! To think of that!
Did they think I wouldn't know my baby? It's only fifty years, ...
shall I come now, Jemmy?"

The silver lamp went out. In the starlight Caroline saw the lace cap
droop forward, as the the old woman's head settled gently on her
breast. Her hands lay clasped on the great volume; her deep-set eyes
were closed. She read no more from the book, and the child, awed and
sober, stole like a shadow behind the gray wall and left the quiet
figure in the carved chair.