“Oh, it was nurse Jane who was killed. And she took my baby, my darling. Oh, who was she? Can we ever find her?”
Then she fainted and her husband caught her in his arms.
“Oh, you have killed her!” cried Miss Crawford. “How could you recount that awful time of suffering, and that the woman should steal the baby! Oh, that was just it, there’s no use mincing matters!”
It was some minutes before Mrs. Crawford regained consciousness, then she gazed imploringly in her husband’s face.
“Oh, tell me—where is my darling? Is she really alive. Can we find her?”
“She has been found. She is well and in good hands. Oh, my dear wife, I felt vengeful at first, but I have come to pity the poor thing. Marguerite pleaded for her. And we must be thankful that she had the courage to confess the matter.”
“Then—you have seen her?”
The voice was shaken with emotion.
“She is at Mrs. Barrington’s.”
“Oh, can’t we go to her? My dear baby, my darling Marguerite! Why, it is almost as if she had been sent from heaven.”