Then in a flash fear dawned on Jean’s heart; her great eyes widened, her lips fell apart.
“My baby! Don’t torture me. Where is my baby?”
“With God,” said Robert softly.
The nurse had cleared away the tea things. After a due interval she had returned to the room, and been relieved to find the patient lying quietly on her pillow. Mr Gloucester sitting by her side looked more agitated and distressed than she did. His face wore the pitiful, baffled expression of a child whose overtures have been rejected. It was with an air of absolute timidity that he bent forward to kiss his wife’s cheek when bidden to depart by the autocrat of the situation.
“I must go, darling. I’ll come back soon.”
Jean’s head moved slightly on the pillow, but the movement was away from him, not nearer. She spoke no word.
Nurse Emma moved about the room, performing necessary duties in the deft, noiseless manner of her kind. From time to time she cast a curious glance at the still face on the pillow. “Poor thing! Too weak, no doubt, to take it in! Yet she had seemed excited at the thought of the boy. A pity, after such a hard time, but there would be plenty more.”
She shook out some dainty, lace-frilled garments before the fire, and approached the bed, judiciously cheerful.
“Now, it is six o’clock! You are so much better this afternoon—what do you say? Could you fancy a nice cup of tea?”