Jane waited for nothing else. Shielded by the dusk of the evening, she went hastening to Jael Batty’s and back again.
“I’ll go down for her presently,” said Robert. But she was back again before he started.
“I came back at once to set the misapprehension right,” said Jane, her eyes bright with eagerness, her cheeks glowing. “Mother dear—Robert—Johnny—listen, all of you: that poor sick woman is George Bird’s sister.”
“Jane!”
“Indeed she is. Captain Bird used to talk to Lucy of his little sister Clara—I have heard you say so, Robert—in the old days when he first came here. It is she who is lying at Jael Batty’s—Clara Bird.”
The company sat down like so many lambs, Mrs. Coney’s mouth and eyes alike opening. It sounded wonderful.
“But—Jane, child—there was still the baby!”
“Well—yes—I’m afraid so,” replied Jane, in an uncomfortable hurry. “I did not like to ask her about that, she cries so. But she is Clara Bird; Captain Bird’s sister, and Lucy’s too.”
“Well, I never!” cried Mrs. Coney, rubbing her face. “Poor misguided young thing—left to the guardianship of such a man as that, he let her go her own way, no doubt. This accounts for what Broom heard her say in the fever—‘George, you should have taken care of me.’”
“Is she being taken care of now in her sickness, down at Jael Batty’s?” spoke up Robert.