She saw suddenly that he had wanted to go alone, to hide himself away. She was hurt and she thought, "I can't let him do it. I've got to fight to save us both."
Aloud she said, "I wouldn't mind anything, Philip, but I've got to go with you. That's all I care about."
"There's the children."
"I've thought of that. I've thought of everything. We can leave them with Rachel and old Molly." She would make the trip a lark, a holiday. She would care for him every moment, and even see that he took the proper drugs. She would fight the fever herself. Nothing could touch him if she were there to protect him. She could put her own body and soul between him and death.
"You're sure you want to go, Mary?"
"Of course I'm sure. It's the only thing I want . . . never to be separated from you again. Nothing else makes any difference."
But this time she did not ask him whether he really wanted her. He smiled at her again. "A poor, weak fool like me doesn't deserve such a woman."
She kissed him, thinking, "Yes, my dear, you're poor and weak, and a bit of a fool, but it doesn't make any difference. Maybe that's only why I love you so much that it breaks my heart."
For a moment, it seemed to her that he again belonged to her, body and soul, as he had belonged to her on that terrible, beautiful night in the stable. She knew now. She understood that strange, sad happiness that always seemed to envelop the wicked Lily Shane.
