"Tomorrow you will help me to remember a great many things," he said.
"And now will you let me send you to bed, Mary Josephine?"
She was looking at the scar. "And all those years I didn't know," she
whispered. "I didn't know. They told me you were dead, but I knew it
was a lie. It was Colonel Reppington--" She saw something in his face
that stopped her.
"Derry, DON'T YOU REMEMBER?"
"I shall--tomorrow. But tonight I can see nothing and think of nothing
but you. Tomorrow--"
She drew his head down swiftly and kissed the brand made by the heated
barrel of the Englishman's pistol. "Yes, yes, we must go to bed now,
Derry," she cried quickly. "You must not think too much. Tonight it
must just be of me. Tomorrow everything will come out right,
everything. And now you may send me to bed. Do you remember--"
She caught herself, biting her lip to keep back the word.
"Tell me," he urged. "Do I remember what?"
"How you used to come in at the very last and tuck me in at night,
Derry? And how we used to whisper to ourselves there in the darkness,
and at last you would kiss me good-night? It was the kiss that always
made me go to sleep."
He nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said.
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