“She's trying to get up!” Edith thought, panicky. “If she gets up it will kill her.”
She stood at the foot of the stairs, scarcely breathing, and listened. There was a dreadful silence above. She stole up, finally, to where she could see her mother. Mrs. Boyd was still in her bed, but lying with open eyes, unmoving.
“Mother,” she called, and ran in. “Mother.”
Mrs. Boyd glanced at her.
“I thought that glass would bring you,” she said sharply, but with difficulty. “I want you to stand over there and let me look at you.”
Edith dropped on her knees beside the bed, and caught her mother's hand.
“Don't! Don't talk like that, mother,” she begged. “I know what you mean. It's all right, mother. Honestly it is. I—I'm married, mother.”
“You wouldn't lie to me, Edith?”
“No. I'm telling you. I've been married a long time. You—don't you worry, mother. You just lie there and quit worrying. It's all right.”
There was a sudden light in the sick woman's eyes, an eager light that flared up and died away again.