"You mean to destroy yourself," I said. "And I mean to prevent you from
doing it. If I follow you about all night, I'll prevent you from doing
it."
She laughed. "You saw yourself that he wouldn't sell me the laudanum. Do
you really care whether I live or die?" She squeezed my hands gently as
she put the question: her eyes searched mine with a languid, lingering
look in them that ran through me like fire. My voice died away on my lips;
I couldn't answer her.
She understood, without my answering. "You have given me a fancy for
living, by speaking kindly to me," she said. "Kindness has a wonderful
effect on women, and dogs, and other domestic animals. It is only men who
are superior to kindness. Make your mind easy--I promise to take as much
care of myself as if I was the happiest woman living! Don't let me keep
you here, out of your bed. Which way are you going?"
Miserable wretch that I was, I had forgotten my mother--with the medicine
in my hand! "I am going home," I said. "Where are you staying? At the
inn?"
She laughed her bitter laugh, and pointed to the stone quarry. "There is
my inn for to-night," she said. "When I got tired of walking about, I
rested there."
We walked on together, on my way home. I took the liberty of asking her if
she had any friends.
"I thought I had one friend left," she said, "or you would never have met
me in this place.
Pages:
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328