The tone of his voice laid to rest all her misgivings with regard to him. Even as he welcomed her, he was thinking of his wife.—As for Philip, if he remembered a time when to call this woman "mother" would have been like a knife-thrust in his breast, he thought only that the time was very long ago.
Kate sprang down unaided, her fatigue forgotten. "Jacqueline?" she demanded eagerly.
"A little stronger to-day. But—the baby—"
Kate gave a cry. Her unspoken fears had been true. "A baby?"
"Yes. It did not live.—That is why I asked you to bring little Kitty."
Kate put her hands before her eyes. "My poor little girl! Oh, my poor little girl!—Let me go to her."
At the door she was not surprised to find Jemima, in a neat nursing-dress, her eyes heavily lined with fatigue.
"I've been here several days. Jacky forgot to make them promise not to send for me. She never thought of me," she explained humbly.... "Oh Mother, it has been pretty bad! Jacky was so—so brave!" She broke down a little in Kate's arms.
"Steady, there," whispered Philip behind them. "She can't stand any excitement yet."
But the two had assumed charge of too many sickrooms together to need his admonition.