“There had been a last word, and it was spoken to me, ringing in my ears for hours after the stiffening limbs were straightened, and the covering laid over the still, white face of her who said them.
“‘Remember your promise, Dora,—your promise to your dead sister.’
“Yes. I would remember it, as I understood it, I said to myself, hugging little Daisy in my arms, and soothing her back to the sleep which had been broken that her mother might kiss her once more. And while I cared for Daisy, Jessie cared for Margaret, just as she had for Robin. Jessie was a blessing to us then, and we could not well have done without her. Bell, though ten years older, was helpless as a child, while her young sister ordered all, thought of all, even to the bereaved husband sobbing so long by the side of his lost wife. In the gray dawn of the morning, as I passed the room, I saw her standing by him, and knew she was comforting him, for her small hand was smoothing his hair as if he had been her father. Involuntarily I looked to see if from the dead there came no sign of disapprobation; but no, the wife was lying there so still, while Jessie comforted the husband.
“They have put Margaret in her coffin; it is fifteen hours since she died, and to-morrow we shall go with her back to the home she left a few weeks since, and whither a telegram has preceded us telling them of our loss. Jessie would gladly accompany me, but I do not think it best, neither does Bell, and so she will remain behind, and visit me in the winter with her sister. I shall need her then so much, for the world will be doubly lonely,—Margaret gone, and the California sun shining down on Richard. Do I love him now? Yes, oh yes, and I am not ashamed to confess it here on paper, while more than once I have wished so much to tell it to him,—wished he would ask me again what he did by Anna’s grave, and I would not answer angrily, jealously as then. I would say to him:
“‘Wait, Richard, a little time till Margaret’s children are a few years older, and then I will be yours, caring still for the little ones as I promised I would.’
“But he gives me no chance, and talks with Jessie and Bell far more than he does with me. He is going with us to Beechwood, and then in a few weeks’ time he too, will be gone, and I left all alone. Oh, if he would but give me a right to think of, and talk of him as of one who was to be my husband, that terrible something would not haunt me as it does, neither should I ask myself so constantly:
“‘Did Margaret mean anything more than that as a mother I should care for her children?’”