"And you are coming back home with us?"
"Yes."
"And you really want to see mamma again?"
"Yes."
"Then"—the child gave a deep sigh—"I am very glad."
That was the end of the first conversation between Laura and her father. They were obliged to look carefully to their footing, for two or three times the child had fallen upon the frozen snow. She did not seem to care much, but her father did; when at last the congealed blood began to flow through his veins, and his wonted vigor to return, Maurice Grey stooped and in his turn gathered her up into his arms.
Laura had found her true place at last. After her wanderings, her strange adventures, her fears and her dreams, she was able to lay her head on her father's breast. He was a stranger to the child. As yet her love for her false father was much stronger than any feeling for the true; but the consciousness perhaps of this, that he was her father, that her task was ended, her childish work accomplished, made a deep rest steal over her. With her arms round Maurice's neck and her head upon his shoulder the child fell fast asleep after her fatigues. It was childhood's sleep, dreamless and unbroken.
So Maurice brought her in to his house, solitary now no longer. He would not give her up into Marie's care, but taking the blankets from his bed, he arranged them with his pillows in a corner near the stove, and laid the little one down. There was a soft look in his face as he stooped over her. Where was all his cynicism? It had gone. He was thinking of Laura's mother, and reckoning how long the time might be before he could himself give back her child to her arms.
And in the mean time the cold dawn was beginning to creep over the snow. Maurice turned to his companions and held a council of war. They examined L'Estrange carefully, and found that one of his arms and part of his side were perfectly dead and helpless. He seemed to be partially paralyzed.
The question was, What should they do with him? In the solitude of Maurice's little chalet it would be impossible for him to obtain the necessary treatment, yet to move a man in his condition so far as the hotel would be a serious matter, and required more hands than they could muster.