She waited for me to cease weeping: my tears
rained over my face so that I could neither see nor speak.
After I had become calmer, she moved toward me again and took my hand:
her own trembled.
"It is for the last time, Margaret. My good, skilful father gives me no
medicine now. My sisters have come home; they sit about the house like
mourners, with idle hands, and do not speak with each other. It is
terrible, but it will soon be over."
She pulled at my hand for me to rise. I staggered up, and met her eyes.
Mine were dry now.
"Do not come here again. It will be enough for my family to look at my
coffin. I feel better to think you will be spared the pain."
I nodded.
"Good-bye!"
A sob broke in her throat.
"Margaret,"--she spoke like a little child,--"I am going to heaven."
I kissed her, but I was blind and dumb. I lifted her half out of the
bed. She clasped her frail arms round me, and hid her face in my bosom.
"Oh, I love you!" she said.
Her heart gave such a violent plunge, that I felt it, and laid her back
quickly. She waved her hand to me with a determined smile. I reached
the door, still looking at her, crossed the dark threshold, and passed
out of the house. The bold sunshine smote my face, and the insolent
wind played about me.
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