"But she was my mother, and called for me," Margaret answered. "It was my right as well as yours to be by her."
"You gave up your right," Hannah said, doggedly, "and the place is mine." But she took care not to look at Margaret, and her hands were twitching.
Then Towsey came forward. "For shame, Hannah!" she said; "this is your mother's child you're speaking to, and in the presence of the dead. You can't mean that she's not to stay here."
"Oh, you can't mean that I am not to stay while she is here?" Margaret said, passionately, looking towards the bed. "I think that the agony I have borne this last hour will set me free of hell, if it is true. You can think, if you like, that God has sent it me for punishment, but we needn't speak of these things," she pleaded; "I only want to stay in peace till she has gone forever."
"And it's peace that God gives," said Towsey, "to them that have suffered."
"You can stay," Hannah said. "It's true that she was the mother of us both, and I'd rather you had been beside her when she died than hidden there." She turned her head away quickly. "It's that I can't forgive," she added, with a break in her voice.
"Hannah," said Margaret, and went a step forward, for Hannah's voice even more than her words overcame her—"Hannah, I was afraid you wouldn't let me in; you said I shouldn't enter the door."
"She wasn't dying then," said Hannah, with grim sadness, "and I didn't think it would be yet; besides, one often says things—I even said them to her; but I wouldn't have had this happen for all I could see."
Margaret put her hand on Hannah's arm, but Hannah stood quite rigid and stern, with her face turned towards the still form that was hidden from them.