“I reckon he's good and tired.” Gibbs rose from his chair. “I'll come in the morning to see how he gets on.”
“But won't you stay? I'm alone just now; Mrs. Walsh who makes her home with me, it at her daughter's, Mrs. Norton's; but I'm expecting her back any minute.”
“I want to find Jake Benson,” said Gibbs. “I reckon I'll pass the night with him. Good-night, son;” he gave the boy his fat forefinger. Then from his pocket he took the letter which Stephen had written Virginia, so largely at his instigation. “It's from Steve,” he said simply, as he handed it to her.
“I've said nothing of my gratitude to you for all your kindness;” and Virginia drew the child closer to her breast.
“It was little enough I was able to do, Mrs. Landray. God knows I wanted Steve to live, but it wasn't to be.” He mopped his face with his handkerchief. “It wasn't to be,” he repeated sadly, then he bade her an abrupt good-night and hurried from the house.
As the general had intimated, he proposed being entertained by Benson. The trip East had involved such nice calculation that this would be necessary unless he expected to practice extraordinary selfdenial on the way home; and freed of the care of the child he proposed permitting himself a certain latitude on the return journey.
The lawyer no longer lived in the house on the square; he had moved to a more remote part of the town where he had built a home which stood in the midst of extensive grounds. It was altogether the most costly and imposing place in Benson.
Gibbs found his way thither. From the servant who answered his ring, he learned that his friend was not in, but was expected home shortly.
“Then I'll wait for him here,” said Gibbs.
This the servant seemed reluctant to allow, but Gibbs pushed resolutely past him.