"He can't hear," choked the Parson. "It's no good."
"Hush," said the boy.
He knew the message would take minutes travelling along the dying passages to the brain.
At last, at last it reached.
The old man's face broke into a smile, fair as a winter sunset.
"Love" he whispered, nodded deliberately, and died.
CHAPTER LXXXVI
TWILIGHT
I
The Parson turned to the window, weeping.