The curtains had been closed. The street children, the electric light outside, were no longer visible. Roger had begun to talk of departure, the baby had fallen fast asleep in her mother's arms, when there was another loud ring at the front door.
French, who was expecting the headmaster of his church schools, gathered up some papers and left the room. His wife, startled by what seemed an exclamation from him in the hall outside, raised her head a moment to listen; but the sound of voices--surely a woman's voice?--died abruptly away, and the door of the dining-room closed. Roger heard nothing; he was laughing and crooning over the boy.
"The Pobble that lost his toes Had once as many as we."
The door opened. Herbert stood on the threshold beckoning to her. She rose in terror, the child in her arms, and went out to him. In a minute she reappeared in the doorway, her face ashen-white, and called to the little boy. He ran to her, and Roger rose, looking for the hat he had put down on entering.
Then French came in, and behind him a lady in black, dishevelled, bathed in tears. The vicar hung back. Roger turned in astonishment.
"Mother! You here? Mother!"--he hurried to her--"what's the matter?"
She tottered toward him with outstretched hands.
His name died away in a wail as she clasped him.
"It's Beatty--my son!--my darling Roger!" She put up her hands piteously, bending his head down to her. "It's a cable from Washington, from that woman, Mrs. Verrier. They did everything, Roger--it was only three days--and hopeless always. Yesterday convulsion came on--and this morning----" Her head dropped against her son's breast as her voice failed her. He put her roughly from him.
"What are you talking of, mother! Do you mean that Beatty has been ill?"
"She died last night. Roger--my darling son--my poor Roger!"
French in silence handed him the telegram. Roger disengaged himself and walked to the fireplace, standing motionless, with his back to them, for a minute, while they held their breaths. Then he began to grope again for his hat, without a word.
"Come home with me, Roger!" implored his mother, pursuing him. "We must bear it--bear it together. You see--she didn't suffer"--she pointed to the message--"the darling!--the darling!"