"Little one," he went on to Gladys, "will you be a good, brave little girl and let me carry you? I will put you on this pillow, and I will be as gentle as possible. I can't promise that it won't hurt you some, but when you are once home you will be so comfortable."
"All right," assented Gladys, looking up at him with touching confidence.
But in spite of all their care, it was a very painful ordeal, and the poor child was quite spent before the manor was reached. As they mounted the steps of the veranda the doctor's gig drove up to the door. They carried Gladys up to the nursery, and Farr lingered there long enough to hear his opinion confirmed that the child had sustained no further injury than the breaking of her arm.
"I will wait downstairs," he said in an undertone to Jean, and he went out and closed the door softly behind him.
The moments dragged slowly, and he had almost renounced all hope of seeing Jean again, when he heard her footfall on the stair. She came down toward him, her white face showing the traces of tears. He sprang forward to meet her.
"I can't stay but a moment," she said to him, "for I must go right back to Gladys. The doctor has set her arm and has given her something to make her sleep and he is going very soon now."
He laid his hand on her shoulder and looked tenderly down at her.
"You look worn out. Won't you try and rest a little?"
She did not resent his action, but she moved a step away from him and his hand dropped at his side. Her lips quivered.
"I don't care about myself. I shall never, never forgive myself for my wicked thoughtlessness. That poor baby's suffering haunts me."