“No, mother dear,” said Mary gently. “Your voice contradicts it all. This does not come from your heart. You do not wish to see me Daniel Barnett’s wife.”
Mrs Ellis’s face went down on her child’s breast, and she let her tears have their course for a few minutes, but raised her head again with a sigh.
“I oughtn’t to have done that,” she said hurriedly. “Mary, my darling, your father desires it, and it is, indeed it is, your duty to try and meet his wishes. What am I to go down and say?”
“Go and tell him that I cannot forget the past, mother, and tell Mr Barnett to wait. In a few months I will try to think, as you all wish me, if—if I live.”
“Oh, my darling, my darling,” sobbed the mother.
“Don’t cry, dear,” said Mary calmly. “I can’t help feeling like that sometimes, it is when I think that he must be dead, and then hope comes, and—mother,” she whispered, “do you believe in dreams?”
“My darling, no,” said Mrs Ellis, “only that they are the result of thinking too much during the day of some particular thing. But I must go down to them now, dear. Father will be so impatient. He was angry last time Daniel came here, because you would keep up-stairs.”
“Daniel!” said Mary sadly. “Mother, are you beginning to side against me too?”
Mary Ellis had hardly asked these words when the sound of voices below made her spring to her feet, run to the door, and stand there listening.
“Mary, my child, what is it?” cried Mrs Ellis.