Crying softly, she drew her little one to her and wound her arms about her. Now the last of her weird nature seemed broken and gone, and she was woman only, helpless and alone.
“Renny, Renny,” she sobbed, “why didn’t you sooner? Oh, Renny! Why didn’t you sooner?”
Her anguish—her implied reproach—pierced to my soul.
“Has that been in your mind, Zyp? I never thought—it was always a habit with me to yield the lead to Jason, and you were so strong and independent.”
“Not now for long—a haunted, hunted thing! But I had no right—and then, your father.”
“If I thought I had sacrificed your interests to a mistaken sense of duty to him—ah, Zyp, it would be a very bitter thing.”
“No, no! You’ve always been strong and good and generous. Don’t mind what I say. I’m only desperate with trouble. Hush, little rabbit! Mother cries with joy to have found a friend.”
“Need you have sought long? Every word you say seems a reproach.”
“No, no, no; you’ll misread me and fall away from us at the last.”
“I swear not! Tell me what has happened.”