“Yes, yes. And, doctor, I want to apologize for my anger and unreason this morning. Why, we are half brutes after all. I believe I could have almost murdered that woman for stealing my darling baby and sneaking off without a word of inquiry. I do not yet see how Marguerite can forgive her for keeping her out off her birthright all these years; for dragging her through poverty and all kinds of menial labor; and here she was the caretaker’s daughter! Think of it—my child, Zay’s sister! Even now when the child pleads for her so earnestly I cannot really forgive her. Will you pardon me for my outbreak? My child is tenderer and more generous than I.”
“The poor woman has come to the last stages. It is a matter of only a few days. It would be cruel to part them now.”
“You are all against me,” with a sad smile.
“You must go home and explain this matter to Mrs. Crawford, and to your sister. Then send the confession to Ledwith. I will see him. And, oh, I promised to drop in and see Zay. She has some nervous crochet in her head.”
“Is she really ill?” the father asked in alarm.
“She has some cold and a little fever. Don’t excite her.”
They walked away together. The doctor found Zay’s fever much higher and she was in a state of great excitement.
“Oh, what has happened,” she cried. “What was papa so angry about? And you took him away——”
“A matter of business that he could not look at reasonably at first. And it may be a delightful surprise for you, so you must do your utmost to get well. Men have many bothers, my dear.”
“It was not about Vincent?”