It had been a child's face once, looking out above its blue pinafore; it had been a woman's face, with a dim shadow in the eyes, and a something which had said, "We are not afraid, you and I; we are together; we will fight, you and I." Now tonight it had come to this.
The dying eyes on the pillow looked into the dying eyes in the glass; they knew that their hour had come.

She raised one hand and pressed the stiff fingers against the glass.

They were growing very stiff.

She tried to speak to it, but she would never speak again.

Only the wonderful yearning light was in the eyes still.