Again Emily Scarborough sat silent, with stricken eyes fixed upon the waning colors of the season.
“I was wrong, presumptuous, wicked,” she broke forth bitterly, “as usual, absorbed in self, careless of the suffering of others. The door of hope is closed; I shall never see another child I want. Nothing remains but a return to the desolation of a life thrown back upon and hating itself.
“But you, Dosia, so rich in love and duties and burdens, so necessary to many, your children about you, your husband beside you, pity a lonely woman with starved heart and barren body!”
Flinging out her arms in a wild gesture, she dropped them on the porch railing, and bowed her head heavily upon them.
Scarcely breathing, and with wide, wet eyes, Dosia drew slowly nearer, and stood a moment with hands outspread above the beautiful, bowed head. Then laying them upon it, she said tenderly:
“Emily is yours, dear cousin. You have the better right, the greater need; I give her to you gladly.”
THE TRADE OF NORTHERN AFRICA
(“THE TRADE OF THE WORLD” PAPERS)