Maimie came up presently from the basement-room, with one arm linked in Cherry’s, and a circle of fascinated boys hovering round. Nobody seemed to feel as I did about the intruder.
Food and rest had brought back a delicate tint to her cheeks, and the black eyes were shining with a satisfaction in which I had no share. But as she crossed the room, a look of anxiety dawned, and she went straight to my husband’s side.
“Have you read the letters, Uncle Robert?” she asked eagerly.
“Yes, Maimie.”
“And it is all true, isn’t it? I am not an impostor. Your brother really is my stepfather.”
“Yes, it is all quite true,” Robert said. “There can be no mistake about my brother’s handwriting.”
“I am so glad you are convinced. It was dreadful just at first, when I almost thought I was going to be turned out into the street.”
She gave a half shudder, and crept closer to him. Robert’s arm went round her, and the flaxen head lay on his shoulder.
“Oh, that is so nice,—so nice. It’s like mother.”
A sigh broke into the words. She must have been very tired, for after sitting thus for some minutes she dropped asleep. A “hush” among the children first drew my attention.