At that moment, overhead, there was a soft noise, as of feet placed upon the floor. Katherine sprang up.
“Father!” she breathed. There began a restless, slippered pacing. “Father!” she repeated, and sprang for the stairway and rapidly ran up.
At her father’s door she paused, hand over her heart. She feared to enter to her father—feared lest she should find his head bowed in acknowledged shame. But she summoned her strength and noiselessly opened the door. It was a large room, a hybrid of bedroom and study, whose drawn shades had dimmed the brilliant morning into twilight. An open side door gave a glimpse of glass jars, bellying retorts and other paraphernalia of the laboratory.
Walking down the room was a tall, stooping, white-haired figure in a quilted dressing-gown. He reached the end of the room, turned about, then sighted her in the doorway.
“Katherine!” he cried with quavering joy, and started toward her; but he came abruptly to a pause, hesitating, accused man that he was, to make advances.
Her sickening fear was for the instant swept away by a rising flood of love. She sprang forward and threw her arms about his neck.
“Father!” she sobbed. “Oh, father!”
She felt his tears upon her forehead, felt his body quiver, and felt his hand gently stroke her back.
“You’ve heard—then?” he asked, at length.
“Yes—from the papers.”