Page:The Celtic Review volume 3.djvu/395

380 When she was no longer able to read to herself she liked a visitor to read to her. The performance was perfunctory enongh. Her wonderful memory kept her, often quite audibly, a word ahead of the reader, perhaps to make sure she was not being imposed on. Among my latest visits one not actually the last, is cherished as such in my memory, because of its pleasantness and her softened mood. She had asked me to read the metrical version of the forty-fifth Psalm. When we came to the verse:—

her unusual silence made me lift my eyes. There were tears in the furrows of the strong, old face; her eyes were raised, and her hands clasped, as she said with holy rapture, ‘And that’s what’s before .’ The Orphan was nearing her Father’s house.