'Now see!' she whispered. 'She'll come back, Ed'ard, when the anger's overpast.'
'The anger of good people is never overpast, Hazel.'
'See, I'll write her a letter, Ed'ard, and I'll say I'm a wicked girl, and she's to teach me better ways. She'll come like Foxy for bones, Ed'ard.'
Comfort stole into Edward's heart.
'And see, my dear, I'll send his baby to him, and maybe, after—' She stumbled into silence.
'What, Hazel?'
'Maybe, Ed'ard, after—a long and long while after—' She began to cry, covering her face. 'Oh, what for canna you see, my soul,' she whispered, 'as I love you true?'
Edward looked into her eyes, and he did see. Strangely as an old forgotten tale, there came to him the frail hope of the possibility of joy. And with it some faith, storm-tossed and faint, but still living, in Hazel's ultimate beauty and truth. He did not know this could be. He only knew it was so. He did not know how it was that she, whom all reviled, was pure and shining to him again, while the world grovelled in slime. But so it was.
'Harkee, Ed'ard!' she said; 'I'm agoing to mother you till she comes back. And some day, when you've bin so kind as to forgive me, maybe I unna be mother to you, but—anything you want me to be. And, maybe, there'll be a—a—bridal for you yet, my soul, and your little uns running down the batch.'
'Yes, maybe. But don't let's talk of such things yet, not for many years. They are so vile.'