“But who was the woman who would abandon her dying child? Worse still, who was the mother who would exhort such a breach? That was a room he had not seen before; nor had he supposed it existed within. Yet he could not believe Cassie Grange could possibly have told the truth. It did not stand to reason, he thought, for she had been tireless in her youth at the bedsides of young mothers; hers had been the quickest catching hands, hers the gentlest touch upon the babe newly dropped to our world. How could such a one have left behind her own to die? He dismounted in his stable yard.

“Yet her strange preoccupation bespoke an unquiet conscience. And he thought again of Cassie appearing over and over, often unbidden, to help a laboring mother. As if she wished to be the first to welcome each new soul, he thought uneasily. As if she stood at the gate hoping to see her lost little one come through once more. His hand paused upon his own home gate at such thoughts, and—it must be said—he turned round and stared into the gloom behind him down the road upon which he had just come from Grange House.

“There was nothing. And when Dr. Bates did finally lift the latch upon the little gate and saw the merry face of his own wife appear at the front window at the sound, he stepped lively up the path, eager to push open the front door and enter straightaway into the home region, his own full of warmth and chatter and the distinct possibility of a late-cooked stew. And the good doctor imagined that after the last dish had been dried and replaced upon the shelf, and the simple Annie let go back to her mother with a hot bit of pie, that he and his wife might sit right down next his sister and make a good hash pot of the day.

“But such a happy ending was not to be. For no sooner had he gained his entrance hall, then his sister Agatha appeared, fairly colliding with him in her excitement.

“‘We’ve Mary Ames here waiting for you.’

“‘What? Abby’s daughter?’

“‘Yes,’ Agatha said, her knowing eyes upon her brother’s face, ready to catch any hint of trouble, ‘lately of Grange House.’

“He turned aside and carefully placed his hat upon his own hatstand, though the trouble of the evening seemed to have followed him home, so it did not appear to matter one whit in which hall he hung his hat and coat.

“‘Well, Mary, what can I do for you?’ he asked the girl who waited for him in the snug front parlor, casting only the briefest of glances at his ottoman by the fire. His wife rose and brought him a pipe, good woman, which he took thankfully and walked to his chair.

“‘Have you seen her, sir?’ Mary Ames was frightened, and she as steady a girl as he had ever brought into the world.