“I think they can,” he murmured. “I never knew what thankfulness was until this day.”
“That the baby is safe?”
“That you are safe, my darling; safe and spared to me, Isabel,” he whispered, hiding his face upon hers. “I never, until to-day, knew what prayer was—the prayer of a heart in its sore need.”
“Have you written to Lord Mount Severn?” she asked after a while.
“This afternoon,” he replied.
“Why did you give baby my name—Isabel?”
“Do you think I could have given it a prettier one? I don’t.”
“Why do you not bring a chair, and sit down by me?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I wish I might. But they limited my stay with you to four minutes, and Wainwright has posted himself outside the door, with his watch in his hand.”
Quite true. There stood the careful surgeon, and the short interview was over almost as soon as it had begun.