"My own baby died," she began falteringly, "I was wild with grief and hunted for another. I found Helen in Norfolk at the house of an old woman whom I knew, and she gave her to me——"
"Or you stole her—no matter"—the doctor interrupted—"Go on."
Helen had slipped down stairs, crept into the room unobserved and stood listening.
"Who was the child's mother?" the doctor demanded.
Cleo was gasping for breath:
"The daughter of an old fool who had disowned her because she ran away and married a poor white boy—the husband died—the father never forgave her. When the baby was born the mother died, too, and I got the child from the old nurse—she's pure white—there's not a stain of any kind on her birth!"
With a cry of joy Helen knelt and drew Tom into her arms:
"Oh, darling, did you hear it—oh, my sweetheart, did you hear it?"
The boy's head sank on her breast and he breathed softly:
"Thank God!"