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"Will you, though?" she said.
"Indeed I will."
"And you won't send him away sore-hearted, either?"
"Indeed I won't."
"I knew you would say that. May the Lord and His holy Mother bless you!"
She was weeping tender, copious, blessed tears by this time, but there
were smiles behind them.
"Not that there's another woman in the world I would rather give him to
if things were as they used to be. But they're different now, are they
not?" she asked.
"Yes, they're different now," I answered.
"But are you sure you're not cross with me for coming?"
"Oh, no, no," I said, and it was all I _could_ say for my voice was
failing me.
She gave a sigh of inexpressible relief and then rose to go.
"I must be going now. The doctor is digging in the garden and he hasn't
had his breakfast. But I put the pot on the _slouree_ to boil and it
will be ready for the porridge."
She got as far as the door and then turned and said:
"I wish I had a photo of you--a right one, just as you are at this very
minute.


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