But at that instant a moan came from the pale lips, and the eyes—large, dark, and lustrous—opened wide. They caught the pitying gaze of the new-comer. Feebly she lifted her arms toward him, then dropped them again, faintly murmuring:
“You have been gone so long, father, and I am ill—dying. Take me home.”
“That I will!” he said, obeying a sudden generous impulse, for he was much moved by the appeal. “Jack!”
“Do you know her, sir, Mr. Heywood?” queried the switchman in surprise.
“No more than you do, Jack, but surely she is in sore need of help, and I’m able to give it. In fact, I think it is a plain call of Providence. I’ve brought the dearborn, thinking to take home Rolfe and his luggage; but he hasn’t come, and here it is—the very thing to carry her in.
“But wait a moment; what do you know of her? Is she quite alone?”
“Indeed I don’t know nothin’ more than—” began the switchman, but was interrupted by the hurried entrance of Irene.
“Is she livin’? where is she?” asked the girl, rushing into their midst breathless with haste and excitement. “Here’s some money the gentleman gave her, and she throwed it on the floor; I reckon because she thought ’twas paying her for the child.”
“My child! my Ethel!” cried the wanderer, starting up, but only to fall back again, overcome with weakness. “Come to mother, darling, come!” she murmured, her hand feebly extended, her eyes closed, while she moved her head restlessly from side to side.
“She’s out of her mind,” whispered the girl.