She set down the cup and burst into tears.
Absorbed in her grief and distress, she did not hear the gate gently opened and shut again, or a step coming up the path, across the porch, through the hall and into the room where she sat weeping such bitter tears as she had never wept before.
But it was a cautious tread; as of one who feared to disturb the sick, as was the fact. With that fear before his eyes Wallace Ormsby had taken thought even to come in slippered feet.
He should have paused at the room door till invited to enter, but forgot everything else at sight of Mildred's distress, and never stopped till he was close at her side.
"O, Mildred, dear Mildred, what is it? what can I do to help and comfort you?" he said in tones tremulous with love and pity, as he bent over her and took her hand in his.
She started with surprise, but the hand was not withdrawn, and the lips and eyes smiled faintly through the rain of tears as she looked up into his noble face and read there ardent affection and deep sympathy in her sorrow.
"Surely you will let me help you in this dreadful time when there's no more proper person to do it?" he said with earnest entreaty. "Why should we care for conventionalities now? You are weak and worn out, in sore need of assistance; I am well and strong, able and more than willing to give it. Say, may I not stay here by your side and help with this nursing?"
"Water, cold water!" sobbed Don, "oh, go get cold water for me and Cyril."
"Yes, Wallace, Mr. Ormsby," Mildred said, the tears coursing down her cheeks, "I cannot sacrifice them to conventionalities, and so gladly accept your kind offer of help."