The world was at bloom-time. The evening air
was heavily sweet with lilacs, and the widely branching, old apple
trees of the dooryard with loaded with flowers. She stepped
outside. Kate followed. Her mother went down the steps and down
the walk to the gate. Kate kept beside her, in reach, yet not
touching her. At the gate she gripped the pickets to steady
herself as she stared long and unflinchingly at the red setting
sun dropping behind a white wall of bloom. Then she slowly
turned, life's greatest tragedy lining her face, her breath coming
in short gasps. She spread her hands at each side, as if to
balance herself, her passing soul in her eyes, and looked at Kate.
"Katherine Eleanor," she said slowly and distinctly, "I'm going
now. I can't fight it off any longer. I confess myself. I
burned those deeds. Every one of them. Pa got himself afire, but
he'd thrown THEM out of it. It was my chance. I took it. Are
you going to tell them?"
Kate was standing as tall and straight as her mother, her hands
extended the same, but not touching her.
"No," she said.
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