At last they reach their destination, and are soon driving up the lane to Hayes Hill in Laura's brougham. Though the twilight is fast gathering, Katie sees the house is a long low one, built of red brick, and in bungalow fashion. Robert Best had it erected in that form as a souvenir of his early days in India. With a show of eastern exterior, it yet contains every possible comfort and luxury our colder climate needs. It is a residence that bears more sign of convenience than style.
The entrance-hall is large, and brightly lighted up, and Katie feels dizzy as her father leads her in from the cold outer air. A silence as of death reigns in the house—even the slim youth who opens the door speaks in a subdued whisper. Perhaps it is all over!
'O Herbert, my darling!' repeats Katie to herself, and her heart gives a wild throb, and then seems to grow still and cold. She cannot frame the question she longs to ask; but Mr Grey inquires at once.
'How is the Admiral now?'
'Much the same, sir. Two doctors are with him at present.'
The page throws open the door of a room on one side of the hall. Laura's sitting-room evidently, for her work is lying on the table, also her desk, on which is a half-written letter. Presently, a light step is heard, and Mrs Best comes running in with outstretched hands. There is no question of jealousy or restraint now. Laura clasps her father's wife in her arms and kisses her tenderly.
'Oh, I am glad you are come! I feared you would be too late.'
'Is he dying? Is my husband—dying?' Katie inquires with a sob.
'He is very ill. But you must be calm, and help me to nurse him. He has been repeating your name so often!'
'Has he really asked for me? Oh, I am so thankful!'