Instinctively her right hand went to her bosom and her eyes looked wildly into mine. Suddenly she saw the moisture on my cheeks.
"Oh! he's been crying, Mother Merry, been crying. Perhaps now I can cry, too. I should like to; it's better than singing." And she broke into sobs so violent that I stood aghast in mingled pity and amazement.
Just then the policeman looked in.
"How now?" he cried. "What's up?"
My impulse was to shield her from this fellow's curiosity. Motioning him away, I whispered in her ear:
"You haven't said whether you would give me what I have come for."
"What is that?"
"A drop of what kills trouble; kills it at once, instantly, and forever. I am wretched, heartbroken." (God knows I spoke the truth.)
She stared, and what remained of light in her face went out.
"I have none—now," she hoarsely assured me.