Thanks to Mrs. Hereford, who procured the herbs ordered by the doctor, the poor sufferer was temporarily relieved.
“Who is that, Mary?” she asked, as she distinguished a strange footstep in the hall.
“It is Miss Alsop,” replied Mary.
No reply from the invalid, but a weary turning of the pale face toward the pillow, and a gathering moisture in the eyes.
“Come here, Mary—nearer—nearer”—Mrs. Hereford bent her head so low that her brown curls swept her mother’s pillow.
“That—woman—will—be—your—father’s—wife when—I—am—scarcely—cold.”
“God forbid—don’t, mother—don’t;” and poor Mary’s tears and kisses covered the emaciated face before her.
“You have a home—and a husband—and a kind one, Mary, but Susan and Neddy—it is hard to leave my children to her keeping. If I could but take them with me.”
As she said this, Betty beckoned Mrs. Hereford out of the room, saying “that Miss Alsop wished to see her, to inquire how dear Mrs. Wade had passed the night.”
“Tell her,” said Mary, “that she is very ill, and that I can not leave her to receive visitors.”