"Yes," was the wondering reply. "How did you know?"
No answer came.
"Mother!" cried Mrs. Galbraith, coming swiftly to her side and bending over the form crumpled against the pillows.
Her face, too, was pale, and even Mr. Galbraith looked startled.
"Don't take on so, mother," her daughter whispered. "Control yourself if you can. There may be some mistake. It is unlikely that—"
"There is no mistake," came in a hollow voice from the woman huddled in the chair, who regarded Delight with frightened eyes. "She is my daughter's child, sent by the mercy of heaven that I might make amends before I went down into the grave."
Tense silence followed the assertion.
"Did your father never tell you anything, my dear, of his marriage?" went on Madam Lee in a tone that although firmer still trembled.
"No."
"Then I can tell you—I, who drove your mother from my house when she refused to wed a man she did not love."