Eunice obeyed her noiselessly.  As the pallid light shot up, it revealed the child plainly.  She was thin and ill-formed—­one shoulder being slightly higher than the other.  She was dark, like her mother, but her features were irregular, and her hair fell in straggling, dim locks about her face.  Her eyes were a dark brown, and over one was the slanting red scar of a birth mark.

Naomi Holland looked at her with the contempt she had never made any pretense of concealing.  The girl was bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh, but she had never loved her; all the mother love in her had been lavished on her son.

When Eunice had placed the candle on the shelf and drawn down the ugly blue paper blinds, shutting out the strips of violet sky where a score of glimmering points were now visible, she sat down on the foot of the bed, facing her mother.

“The door is shut, is it, Eunice?”

Eunice nodded.

“Because I don’t want Car’line or any one else peeking and harking to what I’ve got to say.  She’s out milking now, and I must make the most of the chance.  Eunice, I’m going to die, and...”

“Ma!”

“There now, no taking on!  You knew it had to come sometime soon.  I haven’t the strength to talk much, so I want you just to be quiet and listen.  I ain’t feeling any pain now, so I can think and talk pretty clear.  Are you listening, Eunice?”

“Yes, ma.”

“Mind you are.  It’s about Christopher.  It hasn’t been out of my mind since I laid down here.  I’ve fought for a year to live, on his account, and it ain’t any use.  I must just die and leave him, and I don’t know what he’ll do.  It’s dreadful to think of.”

She paused, and struck her shrunken hand sharply against the table.

“If he was bigger and could look out for himself it wouldn’t be so bad.  But he is only a little fellow, and Car’line hates him.  You’ll both have to live with her until you’re grown up.  She’ll put on him and abuse him.  He’s like his father in some ways; he’s got a temper and he is stubborn.  He’ll never get on with Car’line.  Now, Eunice, I’m going to get you to promise to take my place with Christopher when I’m dead, as far as you can.  You’ve got to; it’s your duty.  But I want you to promise.”

“I will, ma,” whispered the girl solemnly.

“You haven’t much force—­you never had.  If you was smart, you could do a lot for him.  But you’ll have to do your best.  I want you to promise me faithfully that you’ll stand by him and protect him—­that you won’t let people impose on him; that you’ll never desert him as long as he needs you, no matter what comes.  Eunice, promise me this!”

In her excitement the sick woman raised herself up in the bed, and clutched the girl’s thin arm.  Her eyes were blazing and two scarlet spots glowed in her thin cheeks.

Eunice’s face was white and tense.  She clasped her hands as one in prayer.