She could not
understand him, but the tone of his voice was kind, and when he put his
hand on her hot head she took it in hers and held it fast, as if she
recognized in him a friend. And Frank as he felt the clasp of the soft,
warm fingers, and saw the confiding look in the wide-open eyes, grew
faint and cold, and asked himself again, as he had many times that day,
_if he could do it_.
Jerry was asleep at last, but she sobbed occasionally in her sleep, and
there were great tears on her eyelashes, while her fingers clutched
Frank's hand tightly as if fearing to let it go. But he managed to
disengage it and stealing cautiously from the room went back to the
library where he sat late into the night, facing the future and
wondering if he could meet it.
He had Jerry at the table next morning and saw that she was helped to
everything she wanted without any regard to its suitability for her, and
when his wife said rather curtly that she never knew that he was so fond
of children before, he answered her:
'I am only doing as I would wish some one to do to Maude if she were
like this poor little girl.'
When, at last, the hour for the funeral arrived he placed her himself
upon the high chair close to the coffin, where she sat through the short
service, conspicuous in her gray cloak and blue hood, with her golden
hair falling on her neck and piled in wavy masses on her forehead, while
her bright eyes scanned the crowd curiously as if asking why they were
there and why they were all looking so intently at her.
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