That great snowy stretch, that
must be the bed. That tumbled dark circle, that must be Mary's
hair. That dead white thing beneath it, that must be Mary's face.
Those burning lights, flaming on him, those must be Mary's eyes.
Dannie stepped softly across the room, and bent over the bed. He
tried hard to speak naturally.
"Mary" he said, "oh, Mary, I dinna know ye were ill! Oh, believe
me, I dinna realize ye were suffering pain."
She smiled faintly, and her lips moved. Dannie bent lower.
"Promise," she panted. "Promise you will stay now."
Her hand fumbled at her breast, and then she slipped on the white
cover a little black cross. Dannie knew what she meant. He laid
his hand on the emblem precious to her, and said softly, "I swear
I never will leave ye again, Mary Malone."
A great light swept into her face, and she smiled happily.
"Now ye," said Dannie. He slipped the cross into her hand.
"Repeat after me," he said. "I promise I will get well, Dannie."
"I promise I will get well, Dannie, if I can," said Mary.
"Na," said Dannie. "That winna do. Repeat what I said, and
remember it is on the cross. Life hasna been richt for ye, Mary,
but if ye will get well, before the Lord in some way we will make
it happier. Ye will get well?"
"I promise I will get well, Dannie," said Mary Malone, and Dannie
softly left the room.
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