"Oh," Eleanor said, with a gasp of relief, "I'm so glad you're here! There are some things I want attended to. I owe—I mean, somebody paid my car fare. And I must send it to her! And then I want something from my desk; but I can't have Bridget get it, and I don't want to ask Auntie to. It's—it's a letter to Maurice. I wanted to tell him something.... But I've changed my mind. I don't want him to see it. He mustn't see it! Oh, Mrs. Houghton, would you get it for me? I'd be so grateful! ... And then,—oh, that five cents! I don't know how I'm going to send it to her—"
"Tell me who it is, and I'll get it to her; and I'll get the letter," Mary Houghton told her; and went on with the usual sick-room encouragement: "The doctor says you are better. But you must hurry and get well, so as to help Maurice with the little boy!"
Her words were like a push against some tottering barrier.
"I tried to help him; I tried to get Jacky! I went to the woman's, but she wouldn't give him to me! I tried—so hard. But she wouldn't! She paid my car fare—"
Mrs. Houghton bent over and kissed her: "Tell me about it, dear; perhaps I can help."
"There is no help! ... She won't give him up. She insisted on coming home with me, and she paid my car fare! Then I thought, if—I were not alive, Maurice could get him, because he could marry her ..."
Instantly, with a thrill of horror and admiration, Mrs. Houghton understood the "accident"! "Eleanor! What a mad, mad thought! As if you could help Maurice by giving him a great grief! Oh, I do thank God he has been spared anything so terrible!"
"But," Eleanor said, excitedly, "if I were dead, it would be his duty to marry her, wouldn't it? Jacky is his child! Oughtn't he to marry Jacky's mother? Oh, Mrs. Houghton, I owe her five cents—"
The older woman was trembling, but she spoke calmly: "Eleanor, dear, you must live for Maurice, not—die for him."
"Promise me," said Eleanor, "you won't tell him?"