The ninth day after the departure of Sir William there came a cablegram, telling of his safe arrival at Liverpool, and this, at his request, she immediately responded to, telling him that all was well with her.
The next steamer, she knew, would bring her a letter and after that she would hear from him every few days.
Sir William found his mother alive, but in a very low state; “she might rally, she might not,” they told him; and, with a sigh of resignation, he could only wait and try to patiently adapt himself to circumstances.
Thus four weeks went by, and then, early one June morning, a message went flying through the depths of the ocean, telling that a tiny little maiden, with eyes and hair like her father’s, but bidding fair to become the counterpart of her mother in form and features had come to Virgie the morning previous, and “all was well.”
The fervent “thank God!” accompanied with something very like a sob, which burst from Sir William Heath’s lips as he read this message, told how intense had been his anxiety during the weeks of his absence from his darling, and how great his relief at those favorable tidings.
He returned a message of love and congratulation, and when, a little later, there came a letter to the happy young mother, it begged that their little one should be called “Virgie May,” the latter name being that of a dear sister of whom Sir Will had been very fond, and who had died several years previous.
And thus the little heiress of Heathdale was christened by her mother.
“You Have Overstepped All Bounds.”
Sir William Heath could hardly control his impatience to fly to his dear ones across the water.
His fond heart yearned mightily to behold his child and to clasp once more the beautiful wife who had now become dearer than ever to him.
But his mother’s condition did not improve; she still lay hovering between life and death, and he knew that he must not leave her until there was some change either for the better or worse.
Her disease was partial paralysis, which, however, had not affected her brain, and her son’s return and presence appeared to be of the greatest comfort to her.
Still she was liable, at any hour, to have another shock, which would doubtless prove fatal, and Sir Herbert Randal—an eminent London physician—commanded perfect quiet and freedom from all excitement, since the least anxiety or disturbance of any kind would bring the dread messenger which they all feared so much.
Thus it seemed as if the young baronet was hopelessly bound to Heathdale for the present.
Not a word had passed between him and his mother regarding his marriage. Knowing how displeased she had been at the time of it, and fearing to excite her if he recalled the event to her mind, he had thought it best to say nothing, but leave her to broach the subject whenever she should feel inclined, although he wondered that she did not make some inquiry regarding his young wife whom the family had expected he would bring with him to Heathdale.