“Would you ask that, mother?”
“Yes, for in my present condition I'm afraid I'd never believe it was absolutely settled. I—I'm not as clear-headed as I used to be. I've got deep-rooted suspicions, and I'm afraid they would prey on my mind.”
“Then go, mother—go send him away. I'd rather never see him again on earth than to cause you to—to contemplate—but go, mother!”
“Well, you stay here then.” Mrs. Porter was moving towards the door. “I'll be easy with him. I'm so happy over this release that I feel grateful even to him. I'll be gentle, Cynthia.”
As she stood in the door-way of the chamber and glanced back, Mrs. Porter saw Cynthia throw herself face downward on the bed. The old woman was in the hall making her way towards the front-door when she heard Cynthia call her. Retracing her steps, she found her daughter sitting up.
“Mother,” the girl said, “let me go with you. You can hear all that passes between us. That ought to be satisfactory.”
“No, that won't suit me,” Mrs. Porter said, firmly. “I've set my heart on your never facing that man again. For you to go, it would look like you are crazy after him, and he'd hang around here no telling how long.”
“Then go on, mother.” Cynthia fell back on the bed, and, covering her face with her hands, lay still.