“All in good time, dearest,” she said, “but you must rest now. You are wearing out too fast, and you know you do not want to die.”
This was the right chord to touch, and it had the desired effect.
“Let me ask one question, and say one thing,” said Alice, “and I won’t talk another word till morning. When you are ready may I tell Frederic, if I ain’t dead?”
“Yes, darling,” was the ready answer, and winding her arms round Marian’s neck, the blind girl continued: “Isn’t it almost morning?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And when it is, won’t it be Christmas day?”
“Yes, but you have asked three questions, instead of one.”
“I know—I know; but; what I want to say is this: I wished my Christmas gift might be Marian, and it is. Last year it was of a beautiful little pony, but you are worth ten hundred million ponies. Oh, I’m so glad—so glad,” and on the childish face there was a look of perfect happiness.
Even after she shut her eyes and tried to sleep her lips continued to move, and Marian could hear the whispered words: “Our own Marian—our blessed Marian.”
The excitement was too much for Alice, and when next morning the physician came, he pronounced her worse than she had been the previous night.