“When will you marry me, Betty?” I asked.
“As soon as I can fully forgive you for trying
to make me marry somebody else,” said Betty.
It was rather hard lines on Frank, when you come to
think of it. But, such is the selfishness of
human nature that we didn’t think much about
Frank. The young fellow behaved like the Douglas
he was. Went a little white about the lips when
I told him, wished me all happiness, and went quietly
away, “gentleman unafraid.”
He has since married and is, I understand, very happy.
Not as happy as I am, of course; that is impossible,
because there is only one Betty in the world, and
she is my wife.
The raw wind of an early May evening was puffing in
and out the curtains of the room where Naomi Holland
lay dying. The air was moist and chill, but
the sick woman would not have the window closed.
“I can’t get my breath if you shut everything
up so tight,” she said. “Whatever
comes, I ain’t going to be smothered to death,
Car’line Holland.”
Outside of the window grew a cherry tree, powdered
with moist buds with the promise of blossoms she would
not live to see. Between its boughs she saw a
crystal cup of sky over hills that were growing dim
and purple. The outside air was full of sweet,
wholesome springtime sounds that drifted in fitfully.
There were voices and whistles in the barnyard, and
now and then faint laughter. A bird alighted
for a moment on a cherry bough, and twittered restlessly.
Naomi knew that white mists were hovering in the
silent hollows, that the maple at the gate wore a misty
blossom red, and that violet stars were shining bluely
on the brooklands.
The room was a small, plain one. The floor was
bare, save for a couple of braided rugs, the plaster
discolored, the walls dingy and glaring. There
had never been much beauty in Naomi Holland’s
environment, and, now that she was dying, there was
even less.
At the open window a boy of about ten years was leaning
out over the sill and whistling. He was tall
for his age, and beautiful—the hair a rich
auburn with a glistening curl in it, skin very white
and warm-tinted, eyes small and of a greenish blue,
with dilated pupils and long lashes. He had a
weak chin, and a full, sullen mouth.
The bed was in the corner farthest from the window;
on it the sick woman, in spite of the pain that was
her portion continually, was lying as quiet and motionless
as she had done ever since she had lain down upon
it for the last time. Naomi Holland never complained;
when the agony was at its worst, she shut her teeth
more firmly over her bloodless lip, and her great
black eyes glared at the blank wall before in a way
that gave her attendants what they called “the
creeps,” but no word or moan escaped her.
