"Not yet; there's something else to be said--and I may as well say it beside this child, who holds your heart in those slim fingers of hers, as anywhere else--better perhaps. I don't suppose you'll see me again--at any time; why should you?" She laughed that queer little laugh in her throat, and kept her bright eyes on the light of the candle. "So I'll say now that I would have sold my immortal soul to-night to have had you stand beside me as you've stood beside this baby--and touched my hair once like that--and looked at me with that softened look in your eyes. That's all. Now we can go down." They moved towards the door; there he stopped and turned towards her. "I think you might kiss the child," he said, with a nod back towards the bed. "I should like to remember that you did that." "Thank you," she whispered, and stole back to the bed. Moira had heard, and in some dim fashion had partly understood--was perhaps a little ashamed of her own triumph; therefore, it happened that when Honora Jackman bent over her, she reached up an arm in apparent half slumber and encircled Honora's neck. When the woman had settled the bed-clothes about the child she turned away quickly, and came back to where Paul stood, and handed him the candle. And she was smiling quite gaily. Outside the room they met Mrs. Baffall; the good woman had felt that after all she might as well come up and look after her guest. "So you've seen them?" she whispered. "Aren't they sweet?" "Oh--they're all right--for children," replied Honora, with a laugh. "And they always look better asleep, you know." She ran downstairs, leaving the others to follow at their leisure. Mrs. Baffall turned an anxious face to Paul, and spoke excusingly of her. "You mustn't think she's hard," she said. "I'm afraid it's her life--the people she's met, you know. There's some tenderness in her." "I believe there is," replied Paul. Honora Jackman was to leave the place the next day, so that this was a species of farewell. Paul presently insisted that a glass of wine should be drunk in her honour before they parted; and even Jimmy--blinking hard to keep his eyes open--was allowed a minute fraction of a glass wherewith to honour the toast. And by that time Honora Jackman, with nothing of that past tenderness and humility upon her, insisted upon clinking glasses with the boy, and drank to him specially, so that he blushed to the very ears. "Jimmy--I drink to you," she said, and her eyes were very soft. "I shan't forget you, Jimmy--and I'm going to ask Mr. Nannock to let you come to the station to see me off in the morning--and only you." The boy looked anxiously at Paul, and Paul nodded with a smile. Very soon after that they heard her voice calling back to them as they stood at the gate, and as she walked away with the Baffalls. The voice was high and strident and loud as ever. "She's a good woman, Jimmy," said Paul, as he closed and locked the gate.