“You will do it?”
“Yes—I will do it.”
“Good girl. Kiss me. God bless you. George, George,—come here!”
George’s red face had been peeping round his bedroom door.
“George, your sister will do what is required. By God’s blessing we may keep your mother with us yet.”
“Thank you, Rosamund,” said George. He bent his big sulky head and kissed me lightly on my forehead. He, too, in his fashion, was blessing me. I felt as if my heart would break.
I turned the handle of my mother’s door and went in. There was no confusion in this room. A bright little fire burned in the grate. One of the windows was open about an inch. The room was sweet with the perfume of violets. Somebody—my father probably—had picked a few from the garden and brought them in. My mother herself was lying high up in bed supported by pillows. There was a faint pink on each of her cheeks, but the rest of her sweet and lovely face was white as death. Her gentle eyes looked too bright, her lips wore too sweet a smile.
The moment I saw her the whole attitude of my mind changed. I ceased to feel that I was about to do any sacrifice. I became eager—excited to set the seal to that which would open wide the fairy doors of peace and health and ease and luxury for my mother. I absolutely lived in her life at that moment. I was nothing—she was everything. I rejoiced; my heart even danced at the thought that it was in my power to bestow a great gift upon her. I went up and kissed her.
“You look well, Rose,” she whispered, reading the joy which filled my eyes.
“Oh, yes, I am very well,” I replied. “I am so glad to be back with you, mother. I am going to stay with you night and day until you are as strong as you ever were.”