Mrs. B had no doubt of it. The door was open, and she could see Marguerite turn to look at Mary, who reached out her hand.

“Don’t be afraid of me. I’m still who I am.”

Marguerite went to her bedside. “I wish I were half as brave as you.”

“It’s not bravery if you’re not afraid, dear Marguerite. I’ve seen you, seen you be fearful, but it never stopped you, not once. You’ve followed me to the ends of the earth.”

“I would do it again, from the very first day. All of it.”

“So would I.”

Mrs. B could see Marguerite pinching the elbows of her sleeves. “I don’t know what will become of me, without you.”

“You’ll stay here. For my girls. Who need you. It would be a great comfort to me—”

“Of course I will, if that’s what you want. They’re my family too.”

“I know maybe one day you’ll want to have your own family—”

“I don’t wish to marry. I’m not only your servant; I’m your pupil. And I’ve seen what it’s put you through.”

“I know you have. But not all men are hopeless. You don’t have to marry them, you know.”

“You’ve given me a taste of my own liberty. Married or not, why would I ever give that up?”

Mr. Godwin knocked lightly on the bedroom door, and peeked his head in. “Morning, ladies. All safe for me?” he said, with his usual worried smile.

At the sound of his voice Fanny rushed to the door to greet him. “Papa!” she called.

Mary watched as Godwin lifted the little girl into his arms and brushed the hair out of her eyes, asking her where she’d been all morning, and how she got the fresh scrape on her knee. Fanny put her arm around his neck and toyed with his ear while she answered, and he listened, his face darkening or brightening according to the vicissitudes of her story.

Mrs. B stood in the threshold. The morning breeze coming in from the window kissed the scene.

“I think I ought to have some of that wine, Mrs. B,” said Mary, with a smile that was equal parts love and sorrow.

Mary W

When you read this, I’ll be gone.

My soul was calm, the tempest subsided. Nothing was left but an eager longing to forget myself, escape all anguish, all thought—fly away from this hell of disappointment. Some vision, like a liquid dream, appeared, but I couldn’t catch it. I was aware of my head turning, but it was no longer my head, the sinews in my neck, not my neck. My hands, not my hands. “A little patience, and all will be over,” I said to myself, dissolving into blankness, at last, oblivion.