About noon she became blind (an effect of the disease) and bewailed it to her uncle.
From Jean's letter I take this sentence, which needs no comment: "About one in the afternoon Susy spoke for the last time." It was only one word that she said when she spoke that last time, and it told of her longing.

She groped with her hands and found Katy, and caressed her face, and said "Mamma." How gracious it was that, in that forlorn hour of wreck and ruin, with the night of death closing around her, she should have been granted that beautiful illusion--that the latest vision which rested upon the clouded mirror of her mind should have been the vision of her mother, and the latest emotion she should know in life the joy and peace of that dear imagined presence.
About two o'clock she composed herself as if for sleep, and never moved again.

She fell into unconsciousness and so remained two days and five hours, until Tuesday evening at seven minutes past seven, when the release came.

She was twenty-four years and five months old.
On the 23d, her mother and her sisters saw her laid to rest--she that had been our wonder and our worship.
In one of her own books I find some verses which I will copy here.
Apparently, she always put borrowed matter in quotation marks.

These verses lack those marks, and therefore I take them to be her own: Love came at dawn, when all the world was fair, When crimson glories' bloom and sun were rife; Love came at dawn, when hope's wings fanned the air, And murmured, "I am life." Love came at eve, and when the day was done, When heart and brain were tired, and slumber pressed; Love came at eve, shut out the sinking sun, And whispered, "I am rest." The summer seasons of Susy's childhood were spent at Quarry Farm, on the hills east of Elmira, New York; the other seasons of the year at the home in Hartford.