But both, for different reasons,
also knew it to be essential. Wrapping the cloak about her Mary went
to the door, determined not to look back. Still, something made her
turn.
"I may not be coming back for a time," she said. "You understand
that?"
"Yes," replied the old woman, in a voice wholly lacking its former
strength. "Will you make me one promise before you go? Only make it,
and I will rest easier."
"What is it?"
"Promise me. . .that you won't try to take your own life. That you
will not let the bitterness fester inside you like an unclean wound,
turning slowly to the poison of hate. Will you give me your word?"
Mary looked back at her, confused.
"You have nothing to fear, I'm sure. I should have thought my weak
character well known to you by now, and to have removed any such
concern. Twice I have set a hard resolve, and twice failed. I doubt if
I should ever find the courage."
"Listen to me, Mary." Her mother spoke now so earnestly, and with a
desperate entreaty so unlike her, that despite the numb lethargy into
which her heart had sunk, Mary felt a qualm of fear on her behalf.
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