“I was just leaving my rooms,” she said. “I was on my way to the station.”
“You will come with me,” said Caroline under her breath; and Janet passively let herself be led along, her mother unconsciously holding her painfully fast.
So they reached the hotel, and then Jock said, “I shall go and read the papers; send a message for me if you want me. You had rather be left to yourselves.”
The mother knew not how she reached her bedroom, but once there, and with the door locked, she turned with open arms. “Oh! Janet, one kiss!” and Janet slid down on the floor before her, hiding her face in her dress and sobbing, “Oh! mother, mother, I am not worthy of this!”
Then Caroline flung herself down by her, and gathered her into her arms, and Janet rested her head on her shoulder for some seconds, each sensible of little save absolute content.
“And you have come all this way for me?” whispered Janet, at last raising her head to gaze at the face.
“I did so long after you! My poor, poor child, how you have suffered,” said Caroline, drawing through her fingers the thin, worn, bony, hard-worked hand.
“I deserved a thousand times more,” said Janet. “But it seems all gone since I see you, mother. And if you forgive, I can hope God forgives too.”
“My child, my child,” and as the strong embrace, and the kiss was on her brow, Janet lay still once more in the strange rest and relief. “It is very strange,” she said. “I thought the sight of you would wither me with shame, but somehow there’s no room for anything but happiness.”
Renewed caresses, for her mother was past speaking.