A day or two later she received a letter with a foreign postmark, and she tore it open eagerly, for she recognised her sister's handwriting.
The letter was short. Janet complained of not getting any better; her strength was deserting her. And she added: 'Oh, Salome, come to me, come to me if you can, and at once. He is here.'
There was no explanation as to who was implied, but Salome understood. Her sister was ill, weak, and was pestered by the presence of that man—that horrible man who was their father.
She went to Philip's door and tapped. She was at once admitted.
'Philip,' she said, 'I refused to take Mr. Dale's advice on Tuesday, I will take it now if you will allow me. I have heard from Janet. She is ill.' The tears came into her eyes. 'She is very ill, and entreats me to fly to her without delay.'
She said nothing to him of who she had heard was with her sister.
'I am quite willing that you should go,' he said.
The words were hard. The lack of feeling in them touched her to the quick.
'Very well, Philip,' she said; 'with your consent I will go. Baby must do without me for a while, unless,' she brightened, 'unless you will allow me to take baby and nurse with me.'
'No,' answered Philip, 'on no account. Go yourself, but I cannot entertain that other proposal.'