It was also the last thing she read-- Art thou afraid his power shall fail When comes thy evil day?
And can an all-creating arm Grow weary or decay?
I heard her voice gain strength as she read it, I saw her timid face take courage, but when came my evil day, then at the dawning, alas for me, I was afraid.
In those last weeks, though we did not know it, my sister was dying on her feet.

For many years she had been giving her life, a little bit at a time, for another year, another month, latterly for another day, of her mother, and now she was worn out.

'I'll never leave you, mother.'-- 'Fine I know you'll never leave me.' I thought that cry so pathetic at the time, but I was not to know its full significance until it was only the echo of a cry.

Looking at these two then it was to me as if my mother had set out for the new country, and my sister held her back.

But I see with a clearer vision now.