I
have a fancy to look into it, for the last time."
She stood motionless and silent.
"Come,"--softly,--"there is no hurt in your heart that fears
detection?"
She came out into the full light, and stood before him, pushing
back the hair from her forehead, that he might see every wrinkle,
and the faded, lifeless eyes. It was a true woman's motion,
remembering even then to scorn deception. The light glowed
brightly in her face, as the slow minutes ebbed without a sound:
she only saw his face in shadow, with the fitful gleam of
intolerable meaning in his eyes. Her own quailed and fell.
"Does it hurt you that I should even look at you?" he said,
drawing back. "Why, even the sainted dead suffer us to come near
them after they have died to us,--to touch their hands, to kiss
their lips, to find what look they left in their faces for us.
Be patient, for the sake of the old time. My whim is not
satisfied yet."
"I am patient."
"Tell me something of yourself, to take with me when I go, for
the last time. Shall I think of you as happy in these days?"
"I am contented,"--the words oozing from her white lips in the
bitterness of truth. "I asked God, that night, to show me my
work; and I think He has shown it to me. I do not complain. It
is a great work."
"Is that all?" he demanded, fiercely.
"No, not all. It pleases me to feel I have a warm home, and to
help keep it cheerful. When my father kisses me at night, or my
mother says, `God bless you, child,' I know that is enough, that
I ought to be happy.
Pages:
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198