"You promised. I want to hear it
all!" Though she was in fact tired and morose, and beginning to feel
again the ache of her affliction, Mary sensed that now or never would
she learn the whole truth. She must show this woman that she too could
be strong, and was not afraid of dark reality.
The widow MacCain looked hard at her, trying to gauge the depth, and
source, of her daughter's desire to know. But at the same time she
felt the slow stirrings of concerned motherhood, and at that not the
detached, objective instincts of a guardian, the role she had been
forced to assume, and grown accustomed to these many years. She turned
away, and wrung her hands as if deep in thought.
"All right," she said at last. "But we must get you into bed in any
case. I'll not have you seriously ill."
She rose, and took the tea-cup from Mary's hand. She turned down the
covers for her, and saw her securely tucked in. Then to her dismay as
she sat down on the bed beside her, felt such a surge of tenderness
for this innocent extension of her own flesh, that it was only with
difficulty she did not bend down and kiss her damp, flushed forehead.
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