Blaisdell drew a sharp breath. His face was troubled.
“That means my retirement from the turf,” he said, with a sigh. “I have lost the one jockey I could trust.”
“And I have gained—a son,” breathed the bishop, starting forward.
Pausing, he took the sobbing girl by the hand.
“You will see him later, daughter,” he whispered.
His face radiant with a smile it had not known for years, the little bishop followed the nurse down the passage.
A door opened and closed noiselessly behind them.
