And the other stooped a little, put out three fingers half concealed by falling lace, and took it by the ivory handle. He made a courtly bow to Tim. He smiled, but though there was pleasure, it was a grave, sad smile. He spoke then: the voice was slow and very deep. There was a delicate softness in it, the suave politeness of an older day.
“Thank you,” he said; “I value it. It was given to me by my grandfather. I forgot it when I——” His voice grew indistinct a little.
“Yes?” said Tim.
“When I—left,” the old gentleman repeated.
“Oh,” said Tim, thinking how beautiful and kind the gracious figure was.
The old man ran his slender fingers carefully along the cane, feeling the polished surface with satisfaction. He lingered specially over the smoothness of the ivory handle. He was evidently very pleased.
“I was not quite myself—er—at the moment,” he went on gently; “my memory failed me somewhat.” He sighed, as though an immense relief was in him.
“I forget things, too—sometimes,” Tim mentioned sympathetically. He simply loved his grandfather. He hoped—for a moment—he would be lifted up and kissed. “I’m awfully glad I brought it,” he faltered—“that you’ve got it again.”
The other turned his kind grey eyes upon him; the smile on his face was full of gratitude as he looked down.
“Thank you, my boy. I am truly and deeply indebted to you. You courted danger for my sake. Others have tried before, but the Nightmare Passage—er——” He broke off. He tapped the stick firmly on the stone flooring, as though to test it. Bending a trifle, he put his weight upon it. “Ah!” he exclaimed with a short sigh of relief, “I can now——”