"
"No I can't promise." Then suddenly kneeling down by the bed she put
her hand on the other's arm: "Aunt Anne, I'll do anything for you--
anything--to make you better--if I can help . . . but not a promise,
I can't promise."
"Ah, but you will stay," Aunt Anne's whisper trembled with its
certainty.
That seemed the climax of the night to Maggie then. She felt that
she was indeed held for eternity by the house, the Chapel, and
something beyond the Chapel. The scent of the medicine, the
closeness of the room, the darkness and the sickness, seemed to
close all about her . . . She was at the bottom of a deep well, and
she would never get out, she would never get out . . .
The door slowly, very softly opened, and old Martha looked in.
"She's been very bad," whispered Maggie.
"Ay, I heard something. That's why I came. You gave her the drops?"
"Yes."
"She'll sleep a bit now. I'll take your place, Miss Maggie. It's
time you went back to your bed."
Maggie crept away.
She came down to breakfast to find the house bathed in sunlight and
the parrot singing hoarsely "And her golden hair was hanging down
her back.
Pages:
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325