I was crying new tears, not of hate nor misery, but joy. Love opens the floodgates; and I was surrounded with love, bathed in it; love in heaven and love on earth; angel mother and human boy. The two little night-gowned bodies lay close together, the two children's hearts beat. In one there was affectionate pity, in the other a wild joy; in both the high happiness of love. This is a joy so pure, that when older we can never know it again. We kissed each other again and again; eagerly, tenderly, wildly. The pent-up passion of my bitter heart poured forth; I strained him tenderly in my arms, he strained me in his. We were happy, far too happy to speak. His eyes were bright and tender, his dear face transfigured. We forgot everything, except that we loved each other.
The church clock sounded midnight.
Robbie broke the silence nervously. "I must go—soon. We shall have to say good-bye, shan't we? It mayn't be safe much longer. Don't forget you must escape from the attic somehow; break the door open or anything. Find out from Mrs. Greeber exactly when I'm going. I thought of your going tonight when I was still here to help you, but you can't; he has bolted all the doors and locked them and taken away the keys. He knew we might try. Oh, how I'll flog him when I grow up."
"He'll be old then, and yellower and wrinkled instead of smooth."
"I don't care. I'll flog him all the same.... Get a screw-driver or something and hide it when you are up in the attic. Then when we're at the station you must break the lock and fly. I'll leave the money under your bedroom carpet in the corner next to the door, let's say four inches in—"
There was a sound; Robbie started up. "Oh, that's only the floor creaking. Still, it's late."
"Don't go, Robbie."
"You know I don't want to, but I'll have to. When I'm older I'm not going to forget. We mayn't meet for years and years, but we shall see each other again somewhere, I know we shall. We must try to remember each other ever so clearly. Isn't there anything we can do to make it seem we're near together when we're really far apart?"
"I know. Every year exactly at this minute, a few minutes after midnight on Christmas night, we'll think hard of each other, shut our eyes, clench our fists, and think terribly hard. Then it will seem that we're really right by each other; you'll believe I'm in the room with you, and I'll believe you are. I shall wait till just after midnight, then try to think of nothing else in all the world but you. I shall think of you now as you are this minute—kiss me, it will be better to remember by—yes, hard, like that—and then I'll pray 'God, oh God, make Robbie be with me.' He will help it to happen. People who are away from you can be with you like that, even dead people. My mother came tonight. I saw her and she spoke to me. I called out knowing she would come, and she came. You will too. But you must believe with all your heart that it's going to happen; then it will. I shall think you are with me; then you will be. Of course I shall think of you other times, every day I expect, and always when I'm not happy, but only Christmas night in this special way. It's too special to do often. Will you too? Remember, every Christmas night, just after midnight, when you're lying in bed, however far away you are, and every year, always, think with all your soul of me and of our being together just as we are tonight. Then we shall be together again really, so that we shall always know one another whatever happens; always love each other, always be able to kiss. Promise, will you try?"
"Yes, Mary," he whispered.