He stood some seconds by her. She was crying softly, and again motioned him away with her hand.
He went out of the room and looked around. Yes, there was Mrs. Barrington.
“What is the matter between that mother and daughter?” he inquired brusquely. “She seems—well is the girl her own child? Has she done—something—”
“Oh, doctor can you spare a little time? I am troubled and puzzled. She made a strange confession last night and it seemed almost as if I knew the connecting link. Let me call Mrs. Dane and Miss Arran.”
They came and at Mrs. Barrington’s invitation were seated. The doctor studied them a moment with drawn brows.
“Doctor, I want you to relate your experience of more than fifteen years ago when you went out to the scene of that frightful accident from which Mrs. Crawford has suffered so long and when her twin daughter was lost.”
“What has that to do with it?”
“You will see. I believe Major Crawford left his wife and daughter in your charge when he was ordered to the west with his regiment.”
“Yes.” He seemed to study a few moments. “Then came the word of the skirmish with the Indians when he was wounded in the leg which proved so much worse than he first thought and she decided to go out to him and take one of the babies. He had gone fairly wild over the birth of the little girls; they had so longed for a daughter. Marguerite, if you remember, was a strong, robust baby, laughing if you so much as smiled at her. A beautiful baby, I thought, looking much like her mother. Zaidee was smaller and more delicate, though never ill that I can recall. She decided to take Marguerite and the wet nurse who was very proud of her charge and fond of Mrs. Crawford. When we heard of the frightful disaster you may remember that I went out at once. It was a most dreary place, just a sort of freight station where the tracks crossed the through road. It could not be called a town, though now it is a thriving city and the freighting road runs miles below. When I reached the place most of the wreckage had been cleared away, the dead buried, the wounded sent to friends or hospitals at a distance. I found about half a dozen remaining, four of them almost well enough to resume their journey. Two were thought hopeless, one of them being Mrs. Crawford. Fifteen years ago there were not so many conveniences as there are now, and as the fire broke out afterward the baggage was mostly lost and it was quite difficult to find the names of the passengers at first. The nurse and the baby had been killed outright. There was one other baby on the train and that had been taken farther West with its mother.”
Miss Arran and the housekeeper exchanged glances.