A tray remained on a low table by the bed, its piled dishes
indicative of a feast. Beryl's amazed eyes flashed last to these then
back to Robin's smiling face.
"Oh, Beryl, I'm so glad, _glad_ you came!" Robin reached out her arms
and Beryl rushed into them, clasping her own close about Robin.
"I--I thought you were dreadfully sick," she gasped, at last. She drew
back and looked at Robin accusingly. "_Everyone_ thinks you're
dreadfully sick."
"Then I suppose I ought to be," laughed Robin, "I'm not, though, I never
felt better in my life. But, oh, right after I knew Susy would get well
everything inside of me seemed to break into little pieces. Then that
nice Miss Sanford came and put me to bed and nursed and petted and fed
me and--here I am. She says I cannot get up until tomorrow. I'm so
anxious to see Susy!"
Beryl, still holding Robin's hand, stared off into space, uncomfortably.
She had come to the Manor to tell Robin (before Robin should die) that
she had been a mean, selfish, ungrateful thing to run away from the
Manor the way she had done and stay away--and to beg for Robin's
forgiveness. Now she found it difficult to say all this to a pinky,
glowing Robin, and Robin, instinctively guessing what was passing in
Beryl's mind, made her plea for forgiveness unnecessary by asking, with
a tight squeeze of Beryl's hand: "You won't go away, again?"
"No--at least--if you want me--if--" she stumbled.
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