CHAPTER XLV.
WHAT FOLLOWED.
'Thank God that it is out! I couldn't have borne it much longer,' leaped involuntarily from Frank's lips.
No one heard it save Jerrie, and she scarcely heeded it then; for with one bound, as it seemed to the petrified spectators, who divided right and left to let her pass, she reached the opposite door-way, and stooping over the little figure lying there so still, lifted it tenderly, and carrying it up stairs, laid it down in the room it would never leave again until other hands than hers carried it out and laid it away in the Tracy lot, where only Jack and the dark woman were lying now.
Maude had heard all Jerrie was saying, and understood it, too; and at the words, 'I am Jerrie Tracy,' she felt an electric thrill pass over her, like what she had experienced when watching the acting in some great tragedy; then all was darkness, and she knew no more until Jerrie was bending over her and she heard her mother saying:
'Leave her to me, Miss Crawford. You have done harm enough for one day. You have killed my daughter!'
'No!' Maude cried, exerting all her strength. 'She has not hurt me. She must not go, I want her; for if what she said is true, she is my own cousin. Oh, Jerrie, I am so glad!' and throwing her arms around Jerrie's neck, Maude sobbed convulsively.
As yet Maude saw only the good which had come to her, if the news were true; the evil had not yet been presented to her, and she clung tightly to Jerrie, who, nearly distraught herself, did not know what to do. She knew that Mrs. Tracy looked upon her as an intruder, and possibly a liar; but she cared little for that lady's opinion. She only thought of Frank and what he would say.
Lifting up her head at last from the pillow where she had lain it for a moment, while Maude's thin little hands caressed the golden hair, she saw him standing at the foot of the bed, taller, straighter than she had seen him in years, with a look on his face which she knew was not adverse to herself.
'Jerrie,' he said, slowly and thickly, for something choked his speech, 'I can't tell you now all I feel, only I am glad for you and Arthur, but gladder for myself.'