She turned when she heard his step and rose. He took in the situation at a glance.
"You're a trump," he said, concisely, and went over to the bed.
"How is she?"
"Bad—very bad! Where's the child's father?"
"In the next room. He cannot stand seeing her suffer."
"Humph! Shouldn't wonder. She's the apple of his eye. You know we call her the 'Post Baby'—have ever since her mother died."
"How're your young rascals?" he inquired, when he was leaving. "They and the 'Post Baby' here had a pretty time of it yesterday."
"God only knows what saved them."
"Well, I know. It was your two youngsters. They're both game. The Queen will have two good soldiers some day."
The English woman smiled.