“Good-by, then, dear Margaret! I shall come to you in a day or two.”
“Good-by, Mrs. Houston.”
“But you must not call me Mrs. Houston now, my child. You must call me mother. I have no other daughter, and you have no other mother now. Besides, you are my daughter-in-law, you know. So you must call me mother. Say—will you not?”
“Oh, I cannot! I cannot, Mrs. Houston! You are my mother’s friend, and I love you very dearly; but I cannot give you her dear title. I had but one mother in this world—in all eternity we can have but one; to call another person so, however near and dear, would be vain and false; excuse me, Mrs. Houston,” said the girl, gravely.
“As you please then, dear. You will get over these morbid feelings. Good-night, God bless you,” said Mrs. Houston, stooping and pressing a kiss upon the brow of her adopted daughter.
When every one else was gone, the old doctor lingered near Margaret.
“Will you come now, my child?” he asked, gently.
“Presently, dear doctor. Please go and leave me here a little while alone with her.”
“If I do, will you come in before the dew begins to fall?”
“Yes, indeed I will.”