"Yes, father—"
But silence again.
Was that the front door bell? Had Mr. Rawdon come?
She could not move to ring or ask. Mr. Wilmot was leaning against her, supported by her in a measure. It was as much as she could do to hold him up.
Steps sounded in the hall, and at the same instant Mr. Wilmot stirred. Annie was conscious of a slight start—was it from pain? She could not tell. Two words fell from his lips with a singular distinctness, an intonation of surprise and joy—
"READY—MASTER—"
Mr. Rawdon entered the study. He walked straight towards the arm chair, took Mr. Wilmot's hand, dropped it, turned to the table, and struck a light.
Annie noted first the changed look on Mr. Rawdon's face. Then, as he relieved her of the weight she bore, she saw her father's face.
No signs of pain there, or even of weariness now. The eyes were lifted, looking upward, far beyond the enclosing walls of that small room, and the pale lips, smiling, said once more with exultant clearness—
"AYE—READY!"