“THE TIME IS SHORT.”
Nothing more than that. It had been the choice of Mrs. Cairns herself, before she died.
“Caw! caw! caw!” came hoarsely through the air overhead; and “twitter, twitter!” from the bushes close at hand.
“THE TIME IS SHORT.”
Those four words sounded more loudly in Marian’s ears than all the cawing and the twittering.
Standing there, under the blue sky, she became suddenly conscious of a darkness over her spiritual sky. When at this spot, it was her habit always to pray for Joan. To-day Marian could not pray. Her soul seemed to drop earthward, like a bird with broken wing.
“The time is short! The time is short!”
Yes, that was true indeed. Time was short. Years were passing away. A little space, and then the great change. What mattered aught meanwhile, except the one thing needful? What mattered even her great desire?
Ah! but it did matter. Marian could not so reason away the passion of her heart’s longing. Gladly would she have given up all that she possessed, once more to have her child’s arms clinging round her. Little loving arms they had once been; and now Joan—her own Joan, her only child—held coldly aloof. It did matter terribly to Marian. Years might be short, and life only a brief span; but days, and hours, and minutes were long, while she was in the grasp of this agony.
Give up Joan altogether! Oh, she could not—would not!