Then he asked Ruth to go into the backyard. Left alone with Alice he lifted her on to the kitchen-table, took her hands in his, and looked gravely into her eyes.
"I trust you to look after mother and the little ones when I'm gone, Lal," he said.
The little maid, swift and sympathetic as her mother, nodded at him, nibbling her handkerchief, her heart too full for words. Then she raised her crumpled face, that at the moment was so like her mother's, for a last kiss, and as she wreathed her arms round his neck she whispered,
"You are my daddy, aren't you, daddy?"
"Of course I am," he murmured, and lifted her down.
She ran away swiftly, not trusting herself to look back.
A moment later Ruth entered the kitchen, slowly and with downcast eyes. He was standing before the fire, awaiting her.
"Ruth," he said quietly. "I've tried to do well by your child; I'll ask you to do the same by mine."
She came to him and hung about his neck, riven with sobs, her head on his shoulder.
"O Ern!" she cried. "And is that your last word to me?"