“I didn’t know—” he said, brokenly, “until yesterday. I was in Chicago,—I made the best connections I could, and raced up here. Have I—is she—all right now?”
“Yes,” and Fred Fairfield grasped Farnsworth’s hand. “Undoubtedly you saved her life. It was the crisis. If she could sleep—they said,—and she is sleeping.”
“Thank God!” and the honest blue eyes of the big Westerner filled again with tears.
“Thank you, too,” cried Nan, and she shook his hand with fervour. “Come into my sitting-room, and tell me all about it. How did Patty know you were here?”
“Didn’t you tell her?” Bill looked amazed.
“No; she must have heard your voice—downstairs——”
“But I scarcely spoke above my breath!”
“She heard it,—or divined your presence somehow, for she said you were there and she wanted you,—the first rational words she has spoken!”
“Bless her heart! Perhaps she heard me, perhaps it was telepathy. I don’t know, or care. She wanted me, and I was there. I am glad.”
The big man looked so proud and yet so humble as he said this, that Nan forgot her dislike and distrust of him, and begged him to stay with them.