Poor Ducky Darling had cried herself to sleep, sitting on the floor of the carriage, with her head on Roma’s lap.
She lifted her very tenderly, and said:
“Here, Puck, take little Dorcas very carefully, so as not to wake her, and carry her to her mother. Never mind the horses for the present. You know they will stand until you return.”
The man obeyed under protest.
“’Deed, young mist’ess, yo’ sp’ils dis young ’un! ’Deed yo’ does. ’Taine no good treatin’ ob her jus’ like she was a w’ite chile! ’Deed it ain’t! ’Ca’se yo’ see yo’ can’t keep it up, yo’ know, w’en she gets ol’er,” he said, as he carried off his little burden.
“The man is in the right, my dear,” said Dr. Shaw as he gave his hand to Roma to help her from the carriage.
Miss Fronde threw off her bonnet, mantle and gloves in the hall, where the gentlemen also left their hats, for they were to stay and dine.
The three entered the sitting-room and found seats.
“Well, we have returned from a fruitless errand,” said Mr. Merritt, with a sigh.
“Not quite, since we know for a certainty that it was the father who carried off the child; and surely no father, not even Hanson, could fail to be kind to his own and only child—the child of his youth and love, the motherless child of his young, deserted, dead wife,” said Miss Fronde, trying to console herself for the loss of her protégée, “and at least we have got rid of Hanson,” she added.