About fifteen minutes before twelve
Then Sarah Lochrigg sent me a Glasgow paper , with a sorrowful notice of her death in it , declaring that `` it could hardly be called death . She just stepped from this life , into the next . '' Sarah , in a later letter , added she had been busy in her house all morning and as cheerful and interested about the coming spring cleaning as if she was only twenty years old . About fifteen minutes before twelve she said , `` Now , I am tired . I will rest awhile , '' and she drew her father 's large chair before the open door . The sea and the boats were spread out before her and the village lay at her feet . She could see the men fishing and the women going about the streets .