"You're telling me the truth, I know, madame," he said slowly. "It's a very strange world. I'll try not to despair."
"No, no, don't despair; above all, don't despair," whispered Sibylla.
"I have a remnant of my days, and I have the love of my wife. God has left me something out of the wreck that I've made."
Sibylla stooped and kissed him on the brow. He caught her hands and looked again in her eyes for a long time.
"It is true? And your eyes are like the eyes of an angel."
He relaxed his hold on her, and sank back in his chair with a sigh.
"I'm tiring you," said Sibylla. "I'll go now, and leave you alone with Mumples. I'll call her back here. No, I can't stay to tea—you've made me think of too much. But I'll come to-morrow and bring my little boy."
"If what you say is true, you must pray for yourself sometimes? Pray for me too, madame."
"Yes, I'll pray for you the prayer I love best: 'Those things which for our unworthiness we dare not and for our blindness we cannot ask——' I will pray for those, for you and for me. And because you're an old man and have suffered, you shall give me your blessing before I go."
She knelt to receive his trembling benediction, then rose with a glad smile on her face. She saw Mumples standing now on the threshold of the room, and kissed her hand to her.