k a match--two, three--she could not
hold them steady enough to aid the flame. The floor was strewn with
matches. At last--her candle shone out. She leaped from bed. Her knees
gave way. She fell to them where she stood. A second--then up again. She
reached the door--ran, ran--ran....

She was clinging to Gaynor--holding him fast in both
arms--sobbing--biting off laughter between her teeth--sobbing again.

"Oh, Gaynor, hold me! Don't let him get me! Run to Master Bobby! Run!
Take me with you--I can't move of myself---- Then leave me! Go alone! Go
to Master Bobby!"

But when, blindly obedient, he turned and ran towards the nursery, she
was after him, fleet and strong as Atalanta. The golden apple was her
son--her son!...

XXVIII

But all was quiet in the nursery. The night-light burned near Miller's
bed. The embers made a soft jewelry of the iron grate. Under the pink
blanket could be seen the little mound of Bobby's curled body, and the
glow of his red locks on the pillow. Sophy went and sank down beside his
crib, stretching out her arms above him, her face hidden against the
blanket.

"What's a-matter? What's a-matter?" asked the nurse, a blue-eyed
Nottinghamshire woman, struggling to her elbow and staring, frightened,
at the valet. "What be _you_ doin' here?"

Fright had startled her into her childhood's tongue. She was as correct
in her ordinary speech as Gaynor himself.

"Keep quiet," he whispered. "The mistress thought she heard the child
scream. It gave her a turn. Be quiet. I'll fetch some brandy."

"I s'll be quiet enow. You need na' fret for that," said the woman
huffily. She resented being hectored in the middle of the night by that
"wizzening little stick of a man." She got up grumpily and shuffled on
her brown woolen wrapper. Looking like a sulky but dutiful she-bear in
the clumsy garment, she went over beside her mistress. She had recovered
her power of "proper" speech.

"I'm sorry you got a fright, madam. Won't you sit in a chair?"

Sophy did not move or answer. She could not. She felt as though some
violent natural force had flung her against the little crib. She clung
to it dizzily. A great void seemed waiting for her, should she loose her
hold on it an instant.

Gaynor came back with the brandy. She turned her head when he urged her,
respectfully insistent, and supped the liquor from the glass that Miller
held to her lips, like a child. It revived her. She gave a long sigh,
puttin