“Ay, that she would,” rejoined the other; “she had a merry heart. A many, many, beautiful corpses she laid out, as nice and neat as waxwork. My old eyes have seen them—ay, and those old hands touched them too; for I have helped her, scores of times.”
Stretching forth her trembling fingers as she spoke, the old creature shook them exultingly before her face, and fumbling in her pocket, brought out an old time-discoloured tin snuffbox, from which she shook a few grains into the outstretched palm of her companion, and a few more into her own. While they were thus employed, the matron, who had been impatiently watching until the dying woman should awaken from her stupor, joined them by the fire, and sharply asked how long she was to wait?
“Not long, mistress,” replied the second woman, looking up into her face. “We have none of us long to wait for Death. Patience, patience! He’ll be here soon enough for us all.”
“Hold your tongue, you doting idiot!” said the matron sternly. “You, Martha, tell me; has she been in this way before?”
“Often,” answered the first woman.
“But will never be again,” added the second one; “that is, she’ll never wake again but once—and mind, mistress, that won’t be for long!”
“Long or short,” said the matron, snappishly, “she won’t find me here when she does wake; take care, both of you, how you worry me again for nothing. It’s no part of my duty to see all the old women in the house die, and I won’t—that’s more. Mind that, you impudent old harridans. If you make a fool of me again, I’ll soon cure you, I warrant you!”
She was bouncing away, when a cry from the two women, who had turned towards the bed, caused her to look round. The patient had raised herself upright, and was stretching her arms towards them.