"I did—as soon as she recovered her senses. I told you she was with some one I could trust; I have been in the train all night." From her tone it might have been a torture-chamber. "I have come to throw myself on your mercy. I felt that for a fortnight's foolish infatuation you couldn't be so cruel as to wreck my child's whole life. Your father would not let you do it, Margaret. Be worthy of him, dear; be the noble woman you ought to be and give him up."
Mrs. Gilman entered with two telegrams. Mrs. Lakeman gave a little suppressed shriek; but there was unreality in it, and Margaret felt it at the back of her head.
"There's one for you, ma'am, and one for Miss Vincent," Mrs. Gilman said.
Mrs. Lakeman chattered her teeth till Mrs. Gilman had left the room. "I can't open it," she said, and tried to make her hand tremble. But Margaret had read hers already.
"Forgive me, dear," it ran, "I am here with Lena. Better go home.—Tom." She stood rigid and scarcely able to believe her eyes. Was it true, then?
"Thank God!" exclaimed Mrs. Lakeman, holding out her telegram to Margaret. "We are together again and happy, darling. Be gentle to little Margaret.—Lena."
"Now do you see?" said Mrs. Lakeman, triumphantly.
"Yes, I see," Margaret said. "You needn't have come," she added, with white lips that almost refused to move.
"I came partly out of love for you," Mrs. Lakeman began, and then seeing how ill this chimed in with her previous remarks, she added, lamely, "I couldn't let my child die, could I?"