He pressed a chain of close kisses to the back of her hand, his voice far from firm. "It was me, ma. I'll never forgive myself. My little mamma, my little mamma sweetheart!"
"I feel fine, son; only, with you sitting here all night, you don't let me sleep for worry that you ain't in bed."
"I love it. I love to sit here by you and watch you sleep. You're sure you've no fever? Sure?"
"I'm well, Sammy. It was nothing but what you call a fainting-fit. For some women it's nothing that they should faint every time they get a little bit excited. It's nothing. Feel my hands—how cool! That's always a sign—coolness."
He pressed them both to his lips, blowing his warm breath against them.
"There now—go to sleep."
The night-light burning weakly, the great black-walnut bedstead ponderous in the gloom, she lay there mostly smiling and always shamefaced.
"Such a thing should happen to me at my age!"
"Try to sleep, ma."
"Go in your room to bed, and then I get sleep. Do you want your own clerks should beat you to business to-morrow?"