“Oh, my God!” he cried. “Pauline, Pauline, it was cruel of you to keep me in ignorance! I could at least have helped.”
She shook her head.
“I couldn't take—your money,” she said quietly. “I was too proud for that. But, dear friend”—as she saw him wince—“I'm not proud any longer. I think Death very soon shows us how little—pride—matters; it falls into its right perspective when one is nearing the end of things. I'm so little proud now that I've sent for you to ask your help.”
“Anything—anything!” he said eagerly.
“It's rather a big thing that I'm going to ask, I'm afraid. I want you,” she spoke slowly, as though to focus his attention, “to take care of my child—when I am gone.”
He stared at her doubtfully.
“But her father? Will he consent?” he asked.
“He is dead. I received the news of his death six months ago. There is no one—no one who has any claim upon her. And no one upon whom she has any claim, poor little atom!”—smiling rather bitterly. “Ah! Don't deny me!”—her thin, eager hands clung to his—“don't deny me—say that you'll take her!”
“Deny you? But, of course I shan't deny you. I'm only thankful that you have turned to me at last—that you have not quite forgotten!”
“Forgotten?” Her voice vibrated. “Believe me or not, as you will, there has never been a day for nine long years when I have not remembered—never a night when I have not prayed God to bless you——” She broke off, her mouth working uncontrollably.