" He paused and blandly
stroked his huge left hand, covered with red down.
"Holiest Mother, my aunt, has not an hour to live," was the cool
response of the girl. "If you have no further question, I must ask you
to excuse me; I am needed above." She stepped to the door.
"Wait a moment, sister! Not so fast. The situation is serious. Hundreds
of thousands of the faithful depend on our report of this--of this sad
event. We may tell them that the female pope of our great religion"--he
bent his big neck reverently--"was wafted to her heavenly abode by the
angels. But there are the officers of the law, the undertaker, the
cemetery people, to be considered. Shall we acknowledge that our founder
has died like any other human--in bed, of a fever? And who is to be her
successor? Has she left a will?"
"Poor Aunt Mary!" muttered the girl.
"It must be a woman, will or no will," continued the Second Reader, in
the tone of a conqueror making terms with a stricken foe. "Now Aline,
sister, you are the nearest of kin. You are a fervent healer. _You_ are
the Woman.
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