The doctor, after hearing it, took several strides up and down the floor.
“We must be cautious,” he said at last, “how we break the news to—to Maggie’s mother. A shock might kill her. Even a shock of joy.”
“All this I leave to you, my dear sir. But you are convinced yourself now, that here stands Maggie Wycliffe, and convinced, too, of the terrible wrong that has been done her.”
“I see it all very, very clearly now.”
“Then I have nothing further to say at present, doctor, and shall take my leave. I have my part to play; you have yours. Good-night, sir.”
“Good-night, Mr. Fitzroy. Good-night, little Maggie.”
The meeting between Peggy, for I must continue to call her by this sweet name, and her mother, the gentle-faced old lady with the snow-white hair, whom the child had met in the park, was a very tender one.
There were tears in Mrs. Wycliffe’s eyes as she pressed the child to her heart, and tears in Peggy’s too.
“I’m going to live for your sake. I am going to try to make you happy, child.”
“And I will make you happy, mother.”