Achilles sprang forward. “She’s all right, Mr. Harris--all right!” His
hand dropped to the trembling shoulder and rested there, as his quiet
voice repeated the words. He bent forward and lifted the child in his
arms and moved away with her. But before he had traversed the long hall,
the little head had fallen forward on his shoulder and the child slept.
Behind the velvet curtain, the voice of Conner wrestled faintly with
the telephone and all about them great lights glowed on the walls; they
lighted the great staircase that swept mistily up, and the figure of
Achilles mounting slowly in the stately, lonely house, the child in his
arms. His hand steadied the sleeping head with careful touch, against
his shoulder.... They were not jolting now, in heavy cars, through the
traffic streets--or wandering on the plain.... Little Betty Harris had
come home.
Above them at the top of the long stairs, a grey figure appeared, and
paused a moment and looked down. Then Miss Stone descended swiftly, her
hands outstretched--they did not touch the sleeping child, but hovered
above her with a look--half pain--half joy.
Achilles smiled to her--“She come home,” he whispered.
She turned with quick breath and they mounted the stairs--the child
still asleep... through the long corridor--to the princess’s room
beyond--with its soft lights--and great, silken hangings and canopied
bed, open for the night--waiting for Betty Harris.
Achilles bent and laid her down, with lightest touch, and straightened
himself. “We let her sleep,” he said gently. “She--very tired.”
They stood looking down--at the brown face and the little, tired lip and
sleeping lids.... Their eyes met, and they smiled.... They knew--these
two, out of all the world--they knew what it meant--that the child was
safe.
And out in the glowing dawn, the great car thundered home, and Betty
Harris’s mother looked out with swift eyes.
“See, Phil--the sun is up!” She reached out her hand.
“Sit still, Louie--don’t tremble so--” he said gently. “She is safe
now--They have brought her home. She’s there, you know, asleep.” He
spoke slowly--as if to a child.... He was gathering up the morning in
his heart--this big, harsh, master of men--his little girl was safe--and
a common Greek--a man out of the streets--peddling bananas and calling
up and down--had made his life worth living. His big, tense mind gripped
the fact--and held it. Something seemed speaking to him--out of the
east, over there, past the rushing car.... A common Greek.... He had
flung his wealth and hammered hard--but somehow _this_ man had loved
her--_his_ little girl!
“Phil--?” she said softly.
“Yes, dear?”
“Are we almost home?”
He looked out. “Half an hour yet--sit still, Louie--!” He held her hand
close. “Sit still!” he said--and the miles slipped past.
“She is there--Phil! Yes? They wouldn’t lie to me. All these weeks!”
she said softly. “I don’t think I could bear it much longer, Phil!” The
tears were on her cheeks, raining down and he put his rough face against
her, adrift in a new world.
And over the great lake the sun burst out, on a flashing car--and the
door flung wide to Betty Harris’s mother, flying with swift, sure foot
up the great, stone steps.... “This way, ma’am--she’s in here--her own
room--this way, ma’am.”
She was kneeling by the great canopied bed, her head bent very low. The
brown face trembled a breath... the child put up a hand in her dream,
“Mother-dear!” she said--and dreamed on....