They
must soon meet in any case. They had all their lives before them.
Aunt Anne was up again--very, very pale now and so thin that the
light seemed to shine through her making her more of a stained
window saint than ever.
Maggie told her about the visit, Aunt Anne looked at her curiously.
She seemed so weak and frail that Maggie suddenly felt warm maternal
love. Rather shyly she put her hand upon her aunt's: "I won't go
away until you're better--"
Aunt Anne nodded her head.
"I know you won't, dear," she said. "Don't be out late to-day. We
shall be anxious about you."
Maggie had made a promise and was terrified when she thought of it.
Suppose her aunt did not get better for years and years?
People often had long lingering illnesses with no apparent change in
their condition. To Maggie a promise was an utterly final thing. She
could not dream that one ever broke one's word. She trembled now
when she thought of what she had done. She had been entrapped after
all and by her own free will.
In her little room as she was putting on her hat she suddenly prayed
to a God, of whom she knew nothing, that her aunt might get better
soon.
Pages:
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389