The moment Carolina rode up to the house, she knew that something had happened. The house, a mere cabin, was ominously quiet, and no one came to meet her.
She dismounted hurriedly, fastened Scintilla to the fence, and ran up the steps. No one answered her knock. She pushed open the door and entered.
At first she saw no one, but presently she heard heavy breathing, and, crouching on the floor, in the darkest corner of the room, she saw Flower, holding the still form of her baby in her arms. Her posture and the glare in her eyes were tigerish.
With a low cry, Carolina sprang to her side.
"Oh, Flower, darling! What is the matter with your baby?"
"You may take him," said Flower, dully. "You care! You cared yesterday. I can tell. She only cares because Arthur is a La Grange. You will care just because he a helpless little blind baby. Oh! oh!"
"Not blind, Flower! Don't say it. Don't think it. Your baby sees."
"No, Cousin Carol. You are good and kind, but Mrs. La Grange made me see for myself. We took a candle and held it so close to his eyes we nearly burned his little face--"
"You?" cried Carolina. "Were you in the room?"
"That's what Moultrie said, but you don't either of you know. When you have a child of your own, you will both understand that a mother can't keep away. She must know the worst, and she must be there when it happens."