I don't want to know when I am going." And she did not.

All day her breathing grew slower and more labored, and at night it stopped.

In a few hours, there settled upon her features an expression of such perfect peace that each one who came to look at her stole away reverent and subdued.
The two old crones who had come to "lay out" the body crept about on tiptoe, their usual garrulity quenched by the sad and beautiful spectacle.
It was a singular thing that no one knew the name of the stranger who had died thus suddenly and alone.

In the confusion of their arrival, Mercy had omitted to register their names.

In the smaller White Mountain houses, this formality is not rigidly enforced.