"Now," he said, with wonderful tenderness, "let me begin my life work at once, my darling. You are troubled; I am here to bear it all—for you!"
"Oh! Will you bear—half, dear heart?"
"Yes, and that is better. We need not waste words, my tired little girl. Out with the worst and then—you and I are going to—my mother!"
"Your—mother?"
"My mother! God bless her! You know she came near slipping away. She will need and love you more than ever."
"Oh! how good it sounds! Mother! Oh, my love, my love! I've had so little and I've wanted so much! Your mother!"
"She'll be yours, too, Priscilla. But hurry, child! Just the bare structure; my love will fill in the rest."
"Do not look up at me, dear man! So, let me rest my face on your head. Can you hear me—if I whisper?"
"Yes."
"It's about Margaret—Margaret Moffatt."