She had come close to the trembling old man, and put one of her hands on his cold, clammy one.  He didn’t shake it off, but looked at her with an expression in his eyes which roused her sympathy.

“I don’t mean any harm,” she said.  “I only want my mother.  Send for her, please.”

There was a motion of assent toward Peter, who left the room, encountering Mrs. Biggs outside the door.  There was too much going on for her not to have a hand in it, and she stood listening and waiting till Amy came down the hall, her white cashmere wrapper trailing softly behind her, and her hair coiled under a pretty invalid cap.  She had been roused from a sound sleep, which had cleared her brain somewhat, and when told the Colonel wished to see her, she rose at once and started to go to him, fearing he was worse.  He heard her coming, and braced himself up.  Eloise heard her, and, with her head thrown back and her hands clasped together, stood waiting for her.  For a moment Amy did not see her, so absorbed was she in the expression of the Colonel, who was watching her intently.  When at last she did see her, she started suddenly, while a strange light leaped into her eyes.  Then a wild, glad cry of “Baby!  Baby!” rang through the room, and was answered by one of “Mother!  Mother!” as the two women sprang to each other’s arms.

Amy was the first to recover herself.  Turning Eloise around and examining her minutely, she said, “I thought you dead.  He told me so, and everything has been a blank to me since.”

“You see she is my mother!” Eloise said to the Colonel; “and if she is your daughter, you must be my grandfather!”

If the Colonel had been carved in stone he could not have sat more motionless than he did, giving no sign that he heard.

“No matter!  I shall find it all out for myself,” Eloise continued, as she turned again to her mother, who was examining the red cloak as if she wondered how it came there.

The mention of “finding it out” affected the Colonel more than anything else had done.  Amy had said the same thing to him once.  She had not found it out, but this slip of a girl would, he was sure, and with something like a groan he sank back in his chair with a call for Peter.

“Take them away,” he said huskily.  “I can’t bear any more, and,—­and,—­the girl must stay, if Amy wants her, and bring me a hot-water bag,—­two of them,—­I was never so cold in my life.”

Peter nodded that he understood, and, ringing the bell for Amy’s maid, bade her take her mistress to her room, and the young lady, too.  “She is Mrs. Amy’s daughter,” he added.