But she didn't answer.
I said again "Mother!"
There wasn't a movement, only her eyes were on me still.
Then I came almost close. I wanted to take her hand. I did so crave a kiss, and a word of comfort.
But all of a sudden she drew her chair back.
"Keep off!" says she, in a rough voice, quite hoarse, not like mother's.
I began to shake all over, and turned queer again.
"Mother, don't you know me?" says I. "It's your little Kitty. Don't you know me?"
"Keep off!" says she, just in the same way.
I think if I hadn't been able to cry, I must have fainted again; but I found myself the next moment sobbing most dreadfully, not able to stop, and holding on to the foot of the bed, not able to stand alone.