“Clap a stopper on your jaw, woman,” said Gaff impatiently. “Is this Seaside Villa—Mr Stuart’s?”
“It is,” replied Mrs Niven, trembling violently.
Gaff quickly removed the jacket, kissed the child’s pale cheek, and laid her in Mrs Niven’s ready arms.
“She ain’t dead surely, sir?” inquired the housekeeper.
“No, bin saved from a wreck an’ half drownded! She’ll come to in a bit—tak’ care of ’er.”
Gaff turned on his heel as he hastily uttered these words, ran down the garden walk and disappeared, leaving Mrs Niven standing at the open door in a state of speechless amazement, with the unconscious Emmie in her arms and pressed, by reason of an irresistible impulse of motherly sympathy, to her bosom.