Jemima led her mother in silence out to the carriage. During the drive home she made only one remark, in a low whisper because of the coachman. "Do you think the court will accept our word, Mother?" Kate answered her meaning. "It would do no good. Jacques would say that the intention was there, whatever the fact. He meant to kill Basil. And it is too late now. He has paid the penalty." * * * * * That night, after Jemima was supposed to be in bed, Kate's door opened, and a slim little figure stole in, looking very childlike in its nightgown. But the voice that spoke was not childlike. "Are you asleep, Mother?" Kate held out her hand. She had expected Jemima. The girl clutched it fast. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered. Kate wondered silently how much of Mahaly's confession she had heard. The girl answered as if she had spoken. "I was there from the first. It was I you heard when you gave the order to go out of ear-shot." "And you didn't go out of ear-shot? That wasn't quite honorable, daughter." "No, but it was sensible. Do you think I'd have left you there alone to a trying death-bed scene, weak as you are? Honorable!--how do you expect me to be honorable?" she burst out, bitterly, "when you know the sort of father I had? Sometimes of late I suspected, I began to think.... But you would not tell me, you were too fine to tell me. And you let me make a fool of myself, a perfect fool! Oh, I was so proud of being a Kildare, one of the Kildares of Storm; so ashamed of anything that did not quite come up to the standard of--of my father! Bah--_my father_! Not even man enough to take the consequences of his sin, to stand by them. My father," she cried fiercely, "was a coward! And I thought that everything that is good in me, pride and courage, and truthfulness, whatever manly virtues I may have, came from him, instead of--from you!" "No, no--from yourself, dear," said Kate, quickly. "For everything that is best in you, you have yourself to thank." Jemima lifted up her head, and made her confession of renewed faith, there in the dark. "But I'd rather thank you, Mother!" It was Kate's first dose of the happiness the specialist had prescribed. After a long pause, the voice spoke again out of the dark. "Mother--I want you to marry Dr. Benoix. Do you understand? We owe it to him--all of us. I _want_ you to marry him." "Ah!" whispered Kate. "If I only could!" "You've not given up? Oh, but you mustn't give up! He shall be found! I'll find him myself, and bring him back to you, because it was I who sent him away." (Kate smiled faintly at the egotism, but she did not correct it.) "Oh, Mother, put your will into it!" urged the girl, leaning over her. "You know you've never failed in anything you've put your will into." "I? Never failed?" repeated Kate, in bitter mockery.