“I intend to leave Warburton Place.”
“Why, Winnie?”
“Pray don’t make my name the introduction or climax to all your sentences, Mr. Warburton; I quite comprehend that you are addressing me. Why do I leave Warburton Place? Because I have staid long enough. I have staid on, for Leslie’s sake, until I’m discouraged with waiting.” There is a flush upon her cheeks and a hysterical quiver in her voice. “I have remained because it was her home, and at her request. Now that her absence makes you master here, I will stay no longer. It was you who drove her away with your base, false suspicions. I will never forgive you; I will never—”
There is a sound behind her. She has risen to her feet, and she sees that Alan is not heeding her words; his eyes are turned toward the door; they light up strangely, and as he springs forward, Winnie hastily turns.
Standing in the doorway, pale and careworn but slightly smiling, is Leslie Warburton, and she holds little Daisy tightly clasped in her arms; Daisy Warburton surely, though so pallid, and clad in rags!
As Alan springs forward, she holds out the child.
“Alan, I have kept my word,” she says gently, wearily; “I have brought back little Daisy.”
It is the end of her wonderful endurance. As Alan snatches the child to his breast, she sinks forward and again, as on that last day of her presence here, she lies senseless at his feet.
But now his looks are not cold; he does not call a servant; but turning swiftly he puts the child in Winnie’s arms, and kneels beside Leslie.
As he kneels, he notes the presence of a man in sombre attire, and behind him, the peering face of a servant.