Doctor Frank took her in his arms, and kissed her pale cheek as tenderly and pityingly as her father might have done.
"My poor child! My poor little Rose! What a shadow you are! Don't cry so—pray don't!"
She bowed her weary head against his shoulder, and broke out into hysterical sobbing. It was so good to see that friendly familiar face once more—she clung to him with a sense of unspeakable trust and relief, and cried in the fullness of her heart.
He let her tears flow for awhile, sitting beside her, and stroking the faded, disordered hair away from the wan, pale face.
"There! there!" he said, at last, "we have had tears enough now. Look up and let me talk to you. What did you think when you received no answer to your letter?"
"I thought you all very cruel. I thought I was forgotten."
"Of course you did; but you are not forgotten, and it is my fault that you have had no letter. I wanted to surprise you; and I have brought a letter from your father breathing nothing but love and forgiveness."
"Give it to me!" cried Rose, breathlessly; "give it to me!"
"Can't, unfortunately, yet awhile. I left it at my hotel. Don't look so disappointed. I am going to take you there in half an hour. Hallo! Is that the baby?"
Reginald Stanford, Junior, asleep in his crib, set up a sudden squall at this moment.