“Yes—Polly is quite all right, now,” she said. But Robin had caught the hesitation and the tone that quivered. She felt blindly for her mother’s hand.
“You’re not telling me something,” she said—and found that her own voice was beyond her control. “I—I wish I could see you. Tell me, Mother. Is there something wrong?”
Mrs. Hurst found the groping hand and held it tightly.
“There will never be anything wrong for Polly again,” she said. “She gave her life for you, my darling. No—not burned—” she shivered at the horror in Robin’s cry. “She was scarcely scorched—her wet clothes and hat saved that. She flung a wet blanket over you, when you fell, and went down herself: the fire was over you both in the flash of a moment, thanks to the wind. You were only unconscious, when we got to you. But Polly—” her voice broke. “The doctor says that her heart just stopped.”
“Oh, Mother—Mother!” Robin whispered.
“The doctor thinks she could have felt nothing from the moment that she fell.” Mrs. Hurst said, holding her closely. “Don’t cry, Robin.”
“She was smiling when she ran to me—I can see her face now!” Robin said, after a choked minute.
“She was smiling when we found her, like a happy child. No one could think that she had felt either pain or terror. We believe that she died in triumph, because she knew she had saved you: and the doctor says we ought to think that it is best for her, Robin.”
“And she has got Jim again,” whispered Robin.
“Yes—and they have found gold together.”