Lilian changed her dress for a comfortable wrapper, kissed her mother’s forehead and pressed the cold hands. She did not stir; but then she had lain this way for hours at a time. The girl drew up her cot to the side of her mother’s bed and laid down. The clocks all about were striking midnight.
It had not been so tranquil at Crawford House. Dinner had been rather quiet; no one seemingly to want to talk at any length. Afterward, Major Crawford had said—
“Let us all go up to mother’s room. I have a singular explanation to make to you two children. Aunt Kate has known it these two days.”
“There has seemed something mysterious in the air,” exclaimed Willard, “only I am sure nothing worse has happened to mother. She looks so extraordinarily happy, and Zay is about again.”
“We must go back to the time of the accident,” began the Major. “We thought we had overlived the sorrow and we had never expected any joy for the outcome.”
He paused to steady his voice, then began the story of the other woman, the only passenger who carried an infant, her hours of unconsciousness, her hearing the cry of the child and claiming it and then learning that the woman she believed its mother had been killed and full of pity for it, since her own had been mangled and carried away, resolved to take it and care for it. She left the next day—
“Oh, you don’t mean she took our baby,” cried Willard passionately, his eyes aflame.
“She took our baby. She has cared for it all these years through poverty and failing health and now that she is dying, she thought the child ought to know. They have been at Mrs. Barrington’s since some time in August.”
Zaidee sprang up, but her face was ghostly pale and there was a tremulous protest in her voice.
“Oh, it is that Mrs. Boyd, the caretaker and her daughter!” she exclaimed, drawing a long strangling breath full of protest.