"Will you do something for me?"
"Anything," she wept. "Anything."
"Kiss me, Mary." Brushing the tear-stained hair from her face, she did
as he asked.
"Thank you, love..... You're so very sweet..... Too bad you're in love
with that other one, eh?" He tried to wink at her, but his face was
suddenly changed, as crestfallen as the moment before it had been
triumphant. His muscles convulsed from the pain of his mortal wound.
"Kiss me, Mary. I'm gone to a better world."
Trembling, she bent once more to press her lips to his. And when she
rose again, he was gone.
"No
. Dear God, please! It should have been me," she sobbed. "It should
have been me."
She rocked him slowly back and forth, for the second time in her young
life crying the bitter tears of a loved one lost. A heavy silence
reigned about her, and the birds in the heath would not sing.
Fifteen
So it was that Stephen Purceville found her. He had knocked twice on
the door of the hut, with growing impatience until, receiving no
answer to his summons, he kicked it in. There he had found her gone,
the place empty but for a filthy hag who hid her face and said
nothing.
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