CHAPTER XLII
When Hal first saw her old friend she was almost too shocked for words at the swift change in her. Lorraine tried hard to smile cheerfully, but she could not hide any longer from herself how seriously ill she had grown, and she felt it useless to try and hide it from Hal.
Jean had not told her of the letter, and she knew nothing of Hal’s coming until she was actually in the house. When she saw her, she could have cried for gladness.
“How good of you, Hal… how good of you!” she breathed, and Hal, on her knees by the couch, in an unsteady voice replied:
“Oh, why didn’t you send for me sooner? Why didn’t you let me come here instead of going to Norway?”
An hour later she went out to the little post office, and wired to London to know if she might remain away for a week.
It was evident Lorraine was very ill indeed and needing the utmost care.
During the day she seemed to grow steadily worse, and she could not bear Hal out of her sight.
“I don’t know whether you are shocked or not,” she said to her once, “but if everything goes all right I shall not regret what I have done for one moment. I wanted something more real for the rest of my life than I have had in its beginning.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I wanted his child to live for.”
With a caressing hand on the sick woman’s, Hal asked in a low voice: