“Come in, Davy,” said he.
My heart was swelling so—my tongue so sadly unmanageable—that I could do nothing but whimper. But——
“I’m wonderful sad, zur,” I began, after a time, “t’ think that I——”
“Hush!” said he.
’Twas all I said—not for lack of will or words, but for lack of breath and opportunity; because all at once (and ’twas amazingly sudden) I found myself caught off my feet, and so closely, so carelessly, embraced, that I thought I should then and there be smothered: a death which, as I had been led to believe, my dear sister might have envied me, but was not at all to my liking. And when I got my breath ’twas but to waste it in bawling. But never had I bawled to such good purpose: for every muffled howl and gasp brought me nearer to that state of serenity from which I had that day cast myself by harsh and willful conduct.
Then—and ’twas not hard to do—I offered my supreme propitiation: which was now no more a sacrifice, but, rather, a high delight.
“You may have my sister, zur,” I sobbed.
He laughed a little—laughed an odd little laugh, the like of which I had never heard.
“You may have her,” I repeated, somewhat impatiently. “Isn’t you hearin’ me? I give her to you.”
“This is very kind,” he said. “But——”