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Stretton, Hesba, 1832-1911

"Brought Home"


"Sophy," he said, "do not leave me again."
He held out his hand, and she laid hers into it, shuddering as she felt
its chilly grasp. Her head fell on to the pillow beside his, and her
lips, close to his ear, spoke to him through sobs.
"Is there nothing that can be done?" she cried. "It is I who have killed
you. Must you really die for my sin, and leave us?"
"I think I must die," he said, touching her head softly with his feeble
hand. "I would live for you if I could--for you and my poor boy. Sophy,
promise me while I can hear you, while you can speak to me, promise me
you will never fall into this sin again."
"How can I?" she cried. "I have killed you, and now who will care?"
"God will care," he said, faintly, "and I shall care; wherever I may be
I shall care. Promise me, my darling, my poor girl!"
"I promise you," she answered, with a deep sob.
"You will never let yourself enter into temptation?"
"Never!" she cried.
"Never taste it; never look at it; never think of it, if possible.
Promise," he whispered again.
"Never!" she sobbed; "never! Oh, live, and you shall see me conquer.


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