“Mary!”
“You were kind to me when I was left alone, Larry; you would have married me because you felt sorry for me. But you’ll be free now; and I have prayed that she’ll be as happy as I was—before I knew!”
“Don’t talk like that, Mary! It was you that was sorry for me! It was you—” but his voice broke in a dry sob.
“Hush!” a pleading look crept into her eyes. “Don’t let anything stand in the way of your happiness, Larry; don’t let any thoughts of me—any regrets—keep you apart. Promise me that!”
He knelt and covered his face with his hands, the deep, hard sobs racking him from head to foot; and as he made no answer, Mary turned her eyes upon Rosie.
“You will promise, I know,” said she.
“Oh, Mary, Mary I can’t! Please don’t ask me!”
But seeing the look of sorrow that crept into the death-dulled eyes, she added frantically—despairingly, thinking of nothing save the soothing of her friend.
“Yes, yes, Mary, I will! If it’ll give ye peace, I’ll promise.”
The clock ticked on through the hours; the breathing of the man and girl was long and heavy, and their eyes were blood-shot with watching. And when dawn drew aside the sky’s black draperies, the gray light stole into the room and lighted up a face that was calm and still.