"'Who—who are you?' I exclaimed.

"The young widow on the sofa opened her arms with an unconscious gesture of love and longing.

"'I am Little Fairy's mummie,' she said simply.

"'But—' I cried; and stopped. I suppose my face completed the unfinished sentence.

"'Oh, yes,' she said, 'I had forgotten you would know of the telegram. In some inexplicable way it got changed in transit. It was my husband's death it should have announced, not mine. I lost him very suddenly, just as we were almost due to leave for home. I did not wish my children to be told until my return. I wanted to tell them myself.'

"I rang the bell, and sent a message to Mrs. Mallory to send Little Fairy at once to the drawing-room. Then I knelt down in front of Fairy's mummie, and took both her trembling hands in mine. It does not come easy to me to be demonstrative, David, but I know the tears were running down my cheeks.

"'Oh, you don't know what it has been!' I said. 'To think of you as dead and buried, thousands of miles away; and to hear that baby voice, singing in joyous confidence: "Mummie's tumming home!" And the little mouth kept its kisses so loyally for you. I was told each evening: "Not my mouf,—that's only for Mummie!" I used to think I must tell her. Thank God, I didn't! And now—'

"I broke off. Little Fairy's mummie was sobbing on my shoulder. We held each other, and cried together.

"'You won't leave her again?' I said.

"'Oh, no,' she whispered, 'never, never! I also have two little sons at school in England. I never could feel it right to be parted from the children. It was my husband—who—'

"Then we heard a little voice, singing on the stairs.

"I ran out to the hall.

"That sweet baby, in a white frock and blue sash, was tripping down the staircase. Mrs. Mallory's middle-class instincts had rapidly made her tidy. She looked a little picture as she came, holding by the dark oak banisters.

"Mummie's—tumming—home!" proclaimed the joyous voice—a word to each step. She saw me, waiting at the bottom; and threw me a golden smile.

"I caught her in my arms. I could n't kiss her; she was not mine to kiss. But I looked into her little face and said: 'Mummie's come home, darling! Mummie's come home!'

"Then I ran to the drawing-room. I had meant to put her down at the door. But, David, I couldn't! I carried her in, and put her straight into her mother's arms. I saw the little mouth, so carefully guarded, meet the living, loving lips, which I had pictured as cold and dead.