Her tears gushed out again, and poured in hot streams down her face.
“Dear God!” she whispered,—“oh, my dear, great God, I will be so good—only let her live, just let her live—such a little thing, God, such a little baby thing,—oh, you wouldn’t take her from us, my great God—I will give you all my life, God! [252] ]I will be good always, I will go to church always, and do everything you want me to, only don’t take her away, God! Please, Jesus, ask Him,—dear, sweet Jesus, don’t let Him take her; oh, my sweet, kind Christ, let her stay here!”
Her face fell into the hedge once more, and her lips babbled the wild, pitiful, bargaining prayer that only One could understand.
It seemed hours that she knelt there, praying, sobbing, and shivering, before Alan came as he had promised.
She heard his step coming down the path, and she struggled to her feet and forced herself forward.
But he was going past her,—had he forgotten her?
No, she knew; the child was dead, and he could not tell her.
He had passed the hedge and was going on to the gate; she stumbled along after him, but he did not seem to hear her.
“Alan!” she said, as he pulled the chain aside to go out. Her voice sounded hollow and far away.
He stopped, but did not look at her.