There was no answer.
“Mary?” he called, huskily. “If you mean THAT—you'd let me see you—wouldn't you?”
And now the voice was so low he could not be sure it spoke at all, but if it did, the words were, “Yes, Bibbs—dear.”
But the voice was not in the instrument—it was so gentle and so light, so almost nothing, it seemed to be made of air—and it came from the air.
Slowly and incredulously he turned—and glory fell upon his shining eyes. The door of his father's room had opened.
Mary stood upon the threshold.
THE END