“When will you marry me, Betty?” I asked.

“As soon as I can fully forgive you for trying to make me marry somebody else,” said Betty.

It was rather hard lines on Frank, when you come to think of it.  But, such is the selfishness of human nature that we didn’t think much about Frank.  The young fellow behaved like the Douglas he was.  Went a little white about the lips when I told him, wished me all happiness, and went quietly away, “gentleman unafraid.”

He has since married and is, I understand, very happy.  Not as happy as I am, of course; that is impossible, because there is only one Betty in the world, and she is my wife.

XII.  IN HER SELFLESS MOOD

The raw wind of an early May evening was puffing in and out the curtains of the room where Naomi Holland lay dying.  The air was moist and chill, but the sick woman would not have the window closed.

“I can’t get my breath if you shut everything up so tight,” she said.  “Whatever comes, I ain’t going to be smothered to death, Car’line Holland.”

Outside of the window grew a cherry tree, powdered with moist buds with the promise of blossoms she would not live to see.  Between its boughs she saw a crystal cup of sky over hills that were growing dim and purple.  The outside air was full of sweet, wholesome springtime sounds that drifted in fitfully.  There were voices and whistles in the barnyard, and now and then faint laughter.  A bird alighted for a moment on a cherry bough, and twittered restlessly.  Naomi knew that white mists were hovering in the silent hollows, that the maple at the gate wore a misty blossom red, and that violet stars were shining bluely on the brooklands.

The room was a small, plain one.  The floor was bare, save for a couple of braided rugs, the plaster discolored, the walls dingy and glaring.  There had never been much beauty in Naomi Holland’s environment, and, now that she was dying, there was even less.

At the open window a boy of about ten years was leaning out over the sill and whistling.  He was tall for his age, and beautiful—­the hair a rich auburn with a glistening curl in it, skin very white and warm-tinted, eyes small and of a greenish blue, with dilated pupils and long lashes.  He had a weak chin, and a full, sullen mouth.

The bed was in the corner farthest from the window; on it the sick woman, in spite of the pain that was her portion continually, was lying as quiet and motionless as she had done ever since she had lain down upon it for the last time.  Naomi Holland never complained; when the agony was at its worst, she shut her teeth more firmly over her bloodless lip, and her great black eyes glared at the blank wall before in a way that gave her attendants what they called “the creeps,” but no word or moan escaped her.