His nerves were at the breaking point and he spoke sharply.
"Why are you not in bed?" he asked.
"While--mommy-Lyn is--in--there?" gasped the girl, turning reproachful
eyes up to him. "How--could I?"
"How long have you been here?"
"Always; always!"
"Ann, you must go to your room at once! Come, I will go with you." She
rose and took his hand. There was fear in her eyes.
"Is--is mommy-Lyn--" she faltered, and Truedale understood.
"Good God!--no!" he replied; "not that!"
"I was to--to stay close to you." Ann was trembling as she walked
beside him. "She gave you--to me! She gave you to me--to keep for her!"
Truedale stopped short and looked at Ann. Confusedly he grasped the
meaning of the tie that held this child to Lynda--that held them all to
the strong, loving woman who was making her fight with death, for a
life.
"Little Ann," was all he could say, but he bent and kissed the child
solemnly.
When morning dawned, Lynda came back--bringing her little son with her.
God had spoken!
Truedale, sitting beside her, one hand upon the downy head that had
nearly cost so much, saw the mother-lips move.
"You--want--the baby?" he asked.
"I--I want little Ann." Then the white lids fell, shutting away the weak
tears.
"Lyn, the darling has been waiting outside your door all night--I
imagine she is there now.
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