"I know all about her; I know a great deal more than she thinks I do."
Irene moved on her pillow so as to get a more direct view of the other's face as she asked:--
"Just that, dear. I know much more than you think, and have known it for a long time."
"You don't know what I mean," the tone was still impersonal, "but I am going to tell you. You think I was a widow when I married your son. I was not." She raised herself slightly on one elbow as she spoke, using more strength than she had exerted since her illness. Ruth came swiftly over to her and slipped a supporting arm under her as she said:--
"Don't try to raise yourself up, Irene, and I wouldn't talk any more. I know all that you want to tell me. You were a divorced wife, and your husband was living; but he has since died. You see I understand all about it."
Irene's eyes fairly pierced her with their keenness; still, her voice betrayed no emotion.
"I have known it for a very long time, Irene. Don't talk any more; it is time for your medicine now, and after it you must be very quiet, you know."
"You do not know the worst," she said, still speaking as though her words were about some one else; but she was deathly pale. "There was a child."
Ruth hurriedly wet a cloth in a restorative and bathed her face, while she spoke low and soothingly, as to a child.
"Yes, I know; there was a dear little girl, who is a young woman now,--one of the sweetest, dearest girls in the world. I know her and love her. Irene, for Erskine's sake, won't you try to be careful!"
For Irene had pushed the soothing hand away and was making a fierce effort to raise herself to a sitting posture, and her eyes looked to Ruth for the first time like Maybelle's.
"I know all that you want to say; you must lie quiet and let me talk. I am sure there must have been strong provocation, and you were very young; I know how bitterly you must have regretted it all."
"You cannot know that, at least," she said. "There is no need for what you call future punishment, I have had mine here; and I have hated you for fear you would find me out. How long have you known it?"
"For a long time, many months. Irene, I _cannot_ let you talk or think about it now. Won't you try to put it all away for to-night? There is nothing, you see, that you need to tell me."