He signed the note and then crept down stairs and gave it to the colored boy. The colored boy carried it across the parade ground to the house where the English children were staying and waited, as he had been bidden, for an answer.
The Lieutenant went back to the window. He could see the house across the parade ground from there, and presently he saw the shadowy figure of a woman accompanied by his colored boy passing the flagstaff.
"Heaven bless her! I knew she'd come."
He went down stairs to open the door for her and it was not until he had closed it and turned to thank her that he saw it was not the wife of his comrade.
"Mary was away," the exquisitely modulated English voice fell on his overwrought nerves like a balm. "I took the liberty of opening the note, fearing something might be wrong with your little girl after yesterday's terrible experience. I have come to nurse her. I know you won't send me away."
John's mother threw off the long cloak she had flung over her shoulders.
"Really, Mrs. Stewart—"
"There—please don't! I am the mother of three children—I once was the mother of four," the English woman looked down steadily at her wedding ring, twisting it on her finger, "I am the adopted mother of another—" She raised her eyes, smiling gravely, "We are all alike—we women; be we American or English. Besides if it hadn't been for my two boys Cary would never be ill now. Come, take me to her."
There was not a nurse to be found, and at midnight the post surgeon returned, discouraged from a fruitless search.
A sense of order and exquisite peace seemed to permeate the child's sick room. It impressed him before he had crossed the threshold. A woman was sitting by the little brass bed and he could hear her speaking soothingly to Cary.