“I shall get you some breakfast immediately,” she answered in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. “You are done out. Your father has come in and has gone to lie down. McNish is in the library.”
“And Annette?” said Maitland. He was biting his lips to keep them from quivering. “Is she still—”
“She is resting. The maid is watching beside her. Dear Jack,” she uttered with a quick rush of sympathy, “I know how hard this is for you. But I am not without hope for Annette.”
A quick light leaped into his eyes. “Hope, did you say? Oh, thank the good Lord.” His voice broke and he turned away from her. “You know,” he said, coming back, “she gave her life for me. Oh, Adrien, think of it! She threw herself in the way of death for me. She covered me with her own body.” He sat down suddenly as if almost in collapse, and buried his head in his arms, struggling for control.
Adrien went to him and put her arm round his shoulder—she might have been his mother. “Dear Jack,” she said, “it was a wonderful thing she did. God will surely spare her to you.”
He rose wearily from his chair and put his arms around her.
“Oh, Adrien,” he said, “it is good to have you here. I do need, we all need you so.”
Gently she put his arms away from her. “And now,” she said briskly, “I am going to take charge of you, Jack, of you all, and you must obey orders.”
“Only give me a chance to do anything for you,” he said, “or for anyone you care for.”
There was a puzzled expression on Adrien's face as she turned away. But she asked no explanation.