Part 23 (1/2)
”Oh, _Sylvia_! Please forgive me! I--I didn't guess--I'll drink the medicine--or do anything else you say!”
So Edith fell asleep, and when she woke again, the sun was setting, and Sylvia still sat beside her, their fingers intertwined. Sylvia looked down, smiling.
”The doctor has been here to see you, but you didn't wake, and we both felt it was better not to disturb you. He thinks that all is going well with you. Will you drink some milk, and let me bathe your face and hands?”
”No--not--not yet. Have you really been here--all these hours?”
”Yes, dear.”
”With no rest--nothing to eat or drink?”
”Oh, yes, Austin brought me my dinner, but I ate it sitting beside you, and wouldn't let him stay--he's so big, he can't help making a noise.”
”Does he know?”
”Not yet.”
”And father and mother?”
Sylvia was silent.
”Oh, Sylvia, I'm a wicked, wicked girl, but I'm not what you must think!
I'm not a--a murderess! Peter came up behind me on the stairs in the dark last night, and spoke to me suddenly. It startled me--everything seems to have startled me lately--and I slipped, and fell, and hurt myself--I didn't do it on purpose.”
”You poor child--you don't need to tell me that--I never would have believed it of you for a single instant.” Then she added, in the strained voice which she could not help using on the very rare occasions when she forced herself to speak of something that had occurred during her marriage, but still as if she felt that no word which might give comfort should be left unsaid, ”Perhaps your mother has told you that the little baby who died when it was two weeks old wasn't the first that I--expected. A fall or--or a blow--or any shock of--fear or grief--often ends--in a disaster like this.”
”Will the others believe me, too?”
”Of course they will. Don't talk, dear, it's going to be all right.”
”I must talk. I've got to tell--I've got to tell _you_. And you can explain--to the family. You always understand everything--and you never blame anybody. I often wonder why it is--you're so good yourself--and yet you never say a word against any living creature, or let anybody else do it when you're around; but lots of girls, who've--done just what I have--and didn't happen to get found out--are the ones who speak most bitterly and cruelly--I know two or three who will be just _glad_ if they know--”
”They're not going to know.”
”Then you will listen, and--and believe me--and _help_?”
”Yes, Edith.”
”I thought it happened only in books, or when girls had no one to take care of them--not to girls with fathers and mothers and good homes--didn't you, Sylvia?”
”No, dear. I knew it happened sometimes--oh, more often than _sometimes_--to girls--just like you.”
”And what happens afterwards?”
Sylvia shuddered, but it was too dark in the carefully shuttered room for Edith to see her. She said quite quietly:
”That depends. In many cases--nothing dreadful.”
”Ever anything good?”
”Yes, yes, _good_ things can happen. They can be _made_ to.”