“Mr. Kerr?”
Bootles stared. “Who told you?”
“He told me himself, I think to ease his mind,” she answered, quietly.
“Ah! Well, it killed her. She died heart-broken. I saw her,” he said, rising and going to the window, whence he stood staring out over the square, “a few hours after she died. That child’s mother may look like that now, and I can’t and won’t turn it adrift, whatever the fellows or any one else chooses to think or say, and that’s all about it.”
Two bright tears gathered in Mrs. Gray’s eyes, and falling, fell upon the baby’s curls of gold, two priceless diamonds from the unfathomable and exhaustless mines of pity. For a moment or two there was silence, broken at last by the child’s laugh, as a ray of sickly winter sunshine fell upon the glittering chain in its little hands. The sound recovered Bootles, who turned from the window.
“And so, Mrs. Gray,” he said, carefully avoiding the gaze of her wet eyes, “I have determined to keep the little beggar; but Harkness, who’s no fool, you know, has convinced me that it won’t do to trust to any of the barrack women to look after her. Therefore, if you won’t mind undertaking it for a few days, I will advertise for a respectable elderly nurse to take entire charge of the creature. I dare say I can arrange with Smithers for an extra room, and you’ll let me come to you for advice now and then, won’t you?”
Mrs. Gray rose and went close to him, laying her hand upon his arm. “Captain Ferrers,” she said, earnestly, “you will have your reward. God will bless you for this.”
Mrs. Gray rose and went close to him, laying her hand upon his arm