"I will! I will! But oh, must you go? Can't somethin' be done? Don't yo' want the minister to be sent for?"
"No, I'm all ready. I ain't afraid to die. I ain't worth savin' now. Oh, Marthy, I never thought I'd come to this—did you? I never thought I'd die—so early in life—and die—unsatisfied."
She lifted her head a little as she gasped out these words with an intensity of utterance that thrilled her hearer—a powerful, penetrating earnestness that burned like fire.
"Are you satisfied?" pursued the steady lips. "My life's a failure, Marthy—I've known it all along—all but my children. Oh, Marthy, what'll become o' them? This is a hard world."
The amazed Martha could only chafe the hands, and note sorrowfully the frightful changes in the face of her friend. The weirdly calm, slow voice began to shake a little.
"I'm dyin', Marthy, without ever gittin' to the sunny place we girls—used to think—we'd git to, by-an'-by. I've been a-gittin' deeper 'n' deeper—in the shade—till it's most dark. They ain't been no rest—n'r hope f'r me, Marthy—none. I ain't—"
"There, there, Tillie, don't talk so—don't, dear! Try to think how bright it'll be over there—"
"I don't know nawthin' about over there; I'm talkin' about here. I ain't had no chance here, Marthy."
"He will heal all your care—"
"He can't wipe out my sufferin's here."