“No, sir.” said Marian firmly. “If you made me the offer now to take her back altogether, I wouldn’t accept the offer, knowing it isn’t really your wish to part with her. It would be only another wrong to you both, and another sin on my part; and I’ve enough on my conscience already. No, sir; Joan is yours.”
George could not speak. Tears filled his eyes, and in his utter weakness a sob broke from him. Then his arm was round Joan, and her dark head lay against his tawny beard, just as on that long-past day when he had first taken the little forsaken one into his loving heart.
“My own little girl,” he whispered.
“You’ll get well now, father,” she said.
At a sign from the doctor Marian passed out of the room, Leo saying, as she went—
“Wait in the dining-room, till one of us can come to you.”
Marian obeyed. She had done her utmost, and something of a reaction followed. Not reaction in the way of resolution, but of strength. None saw her in the next half hour of grief and loneliness, and perhaps it was well. She had a full hour in which to recover herself.
Then a quick step approached, and Joan herself opened the door. Marian had not expected this.
Joan came close, took both her hands, and looked into her face with eyes no longer defiant, only full of soft gratitude.
“Mother!” Joan said.