e.

"Let me hev yoh to myself, Lo, 't th' last; yoh're all I hev; let me hev
yoh 't th' last."

It was a bitter disappointment, but she roused herself even then to
smile, and tell him yes, cheerfully. You call it a trifle, nothing? It
may be; yet I think the angels looking down had tears in their eyes,
when they saw the last trial of the unselfish, solitary heart, and kept
for her a different crown from his who conquers a city.

The fire-light grew warmer and redder; her eyes followed it, as if all
that had been bright and kindly in her life were coming back in it. She
put her hand on her father, trying vainly to smooth his gray hair. The
old man's heart smote him for something, for his sobs grew louder, and
he left her a moment; then she saw them all, faces very dear to her even
then. She laughed and nodded to them all in the old childish way; then
her lips moved. "It's come right!" she tried to say; but the weak voice
would never speak again on earth.

"It's the turn o' the night," said Mrs. Polston, solemnly; "lift her
head; the Old Year's goin' out."

Margaret lifted her head, and held it on her breast. She could hear
cries and sobs; the faces, white now, and wet, pressed nearer, yet
fading slowly: it was the Old Year going out, the worn-out year of her
life. Holmes opened the window: the cold night-wind rushed in, bearing
with it snatches of broken harmony: some idle musician down in the city,
playing fragments of some old, sweet air, heavy with love and regret. It
may have been chance: yet let us think it was not chance; let us believe
that He who had made the world warm and happy for her chose that this
best voice of all should bid her goodbye at the last.

So the Old Year went out. The dull eyes, loving to the end, wandered
vaguely as the sounds died away, as if losing something,--losing all,
suddenly. She sighed as the clock struck, and then a strange calm,
unknown before, stole over her face; her eyes flashed open with a living
joy. Margaret stooped to close them, kissing the cold lids; and Tiger,
who had climbed upon the bed, whined and crept down.

"It is the New Year," said Holmes, bending his head.

The cripple was dead; but _Lois_, free, loving, and beloved,
trembled from her prison to her Master's side in the To-Morrow.

I can show you her grave out there in the hills,--a short, stunted
grave, like a child's. No one goes there, although there are many
firesides where they speak of "Lois" softly