She turned.
"Why, Jap, what are you doing there?" as her son came around one of the rear corners of the little building.
"I'm just—waiting. Say, mother," tremulously, "will it—kill her?"
"Kill her? Who, Sairay? No, indeed. She's lots better now. Gracious! you look sick yourself, child!"
"I'll never do such a thing again, mother,—never! I felt as if I'd stabbed her to the heart. Do—do you s'pose it'll make her—turn agin me?"
"Gracious! No; what an idee! Why, you've worked yourself into a regular chill, I declare. Go home, and tell Hannah to fix you up a good stiff dose of Jamaica ginger right away. Well, I never!"
"Then you think she's coming out of it all right?"
"I think she's enough sight better'n you'll be, if you don't go and do what I tell you this minute; now hustle!" and Jasper, knowing his mother's decisive ways, walked away without more ado.
But not home; not to Hannah's ministering care and the Jamaica ginger, but to a little cove by the sea where, with his body thrown flat on the rocks, and his face buried in his hands, he wept like a child himself, for pure sympathy with that orphaned girl who was so dear to him.