'How beautiful it was!' said Gertrude softly, 'that care for poor little Theodore first, and then you!'—and softer tears came into her eyes. 'It is just like all his life.'
'Just,' they both said, gratefully.
'And how does he look?'
'Perfectly white, dear fellow—lips and all,' said Cherry; 'and he speaks so slowly, and only just above his breath; but his eyes watch one about with all their grave brightness.'
'Grave brightness,' whispered Gertrude to herself, while a sweet satisfied look passed over her face. 'Did he know how it was with the poor little one before he—was ill?'
'No,' said Lance; but he could now add that when Felix had seen Clement about to go to church, he had said, 'Remember me, and give thanks—above all for dear Baby.'
Never perhaps had Gertrude shown such soft shy tenderness; and Lance confirmed the trust that Theodore could scarcely have felt a pang, for he said that in his own case the drowning had been far preferable to the coming back to life, when Wilmet had seemed a cruel tormentor.
'Who was it that brought you out?'
'Who, Cherry? I never asked!'
'Oh!' emphatically exclaimed Gertrude; then in a murmur under her breath, 'or what would it not have been to me?'