"So, then, Derry, you have cast me off, left me to die; for I shall die
within a month, or less. Well, be it so. I am content. If such is the
woman's lot, of what avail to cry aloud to Heaven that it is unjust?
But, if ever you come to realize what tortures I have endured while
waiting in vain for the answer that never arrived, surely you will pity
me. I, once so full of the joy of life, am humbled to the dust. Your
departure from Bison--for my constant friend MacGonigal has told me of
your going--robbed me of my last frail refuge. Some day, perhaps, you
will read these farewell words of the woman who loved you, who still
loves you, who will love you to the end, whose last prayer will be for
you and not for herself. Oh, Derry, it will be hard to pass into the
everlasting night, knowing that you and I shall never meet again on this
side of the grave, but harder still to deliver into the keeping of one
whom I loathe the living memory of my brief happiness. It may not be so.
My child and I may go out into the darkness together; but I dare not
petition the Most High for that crowning mercy. Have I really done
wrong? I cannot decide, but grope blindly for guidance. If I am judged,
it will be by One who looks into the heart, and will treat an erring
woman with divine compassion as well as justice. But you, if ever you
see what I am setting down here, and I am convinced that you will, even
though I be long dead--what of you? My heart aches for you. Can I give
you any message of healing and solace? Yes, one. If my child lives--ah,
it is bitter to think that the mother's eyes will be glazing in death
when they see her babe!--I charge you with a sacred responsibility. What
do I mean? I cannot tell you. I am fey today. I peer into a dim future.
I only know that I shall not survive my little one's birth, and that
some day, somehow, you will understand that which is hidden from my ken
in laying this duty upon you. And that way will come consolation. Do
you remember how I used to hate that word 'duty'? Yet it is stronger
than I. It compels me, even now.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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