"Thank you. There is nothing."
When the doctor had gone, Jean drank the black coffee that Katy brought.
"Could I be seein' her, Mis' Herrick?"
Jean did not want Katy to see her. But she could not refuse, for the feeling persisted that Martha was no longer her mother, her own special human property. She was part of the law of life and death, day and night, the seasons. She had entered the cosmos. Personal preference was washed under in this tide of law.
Jean heard Katy go into the room and drop to her knees. There was a moment of sobbing and then a mumbled prayer. In a few moments the girl came out. Jean heard her muffled sobbing in the kitchen.
"If you would rather go home to-night you may, Katy."
"And leave you?"
"Certainly. I do not mind. There is nothing to be afraid of," she added more gently.
"I know." Katy took advantage of the gentleness to sob openly. "The dead can't hurt us—God rest their souls—and such a gentle sweet lady—but it does give me the creeps—it always done——"
"Then, Katy, I would rather you went. In fact I would rather be alone. You can come early. Be here by seven-thirty."