Basil Kildare did not trouble himself to inspect his new property. Servants brought him word of its sex and its soundness.
"Good gad, another female?" he cried; and went off down the hill at a gallop.
Kate heard him go, and retreated a step from the dark threshold.
There was peace in the room.
Presently it seemed to her as if some one were near, a dear familiar presence she had learned to associate with that threshold; a strength to lean her weakness on; a hand gripping hers; eyes that held her with their tenderness, would not let her go.
By a great effort she raised her lids. The vision held. A voice said steadily: "Quiet, Kate. Remember your baby."
But she had no thought of excitement. It seemed too natural to have him there. "I knew—you would come—if you could—" she whispered.
He knelt beside her. She drew his head down to her breast, just above where the baby lay. So they stayed a while without speaking.
There was some sort of commotion downstairs; a cry, instantly hushed. The old doctor entered the room in haste, and paused, staring. After a moment he went out softly, clearing his throat. A mulatto-girl, curiously gray of face, was mounting fierce guard over the door, and would allow no others to enter.
Then came a sound of trampling feet in the road, as of men bearing some heavy burden.