I knew, of course, that the woman who was supposed to have died so many years before was but keeping her promise to me, and was on her way to confront her husband. I felt that I must know what happened—must understand under what circumstances, whether of possible happiness or of misery, I left her. I crept nearer until, as the girl and Arnold Millard opened the narrow door at the end of the terrace, and passed into that room I knew so well, I was close at hand. The elder Barbara waited outside, looking into the room, and evidently hesitating what to do. I was within a dozen yards of her.
Inside the room I saw Lucas Savell seated; the girl was on her knees beside him, talking to him. In the silence I heard her voice quite clearly.
"Dear father—only a good, kind friend, who has been almost like a mother to me—who has helped and protected me. I want you to see her."
Even as Lucas Savell feebly got to his feet, and stared in bewilderment at his daughter, I understood that Barbara had not told her child of the relationship between them; that was to be left for the moment when she should greet her husband. The elder Barbara had passed through the doorway, and was now inside the room; Lucas Savell was still staring in a dazed fashion at his daughter.
"I—I don't understand," I heard him say.
The elder woman stepped forward into the room. "Lucas!—Lucas Savell!" she said falteringly; and stood still.
I was totally unprepared for what happened; it was all over in a mere matter of seconds. Savell swung round quickly, with a cry, and then took a step towards the woman who stood just within the doorway of the room; cried out her name in a terrible voice, and dropped to his knees—
"Barbara! Oh!—my God!—Barbara!"
She made a swift movement towards him; I saw him put up his hands, as though he would beat her off; then he plunged forward on his face at her feet. The girl was the first to reach him, and she raised him, and called to him wildly. But he hung limply in her arms.
"Father!—you called me, father!"