“Professor, you are better!”
Frank uttered the exclamation gently, hurrying to the bedside and clasping the thin hands that lay on the white spread.
“Do you think so?” asked the man, with a voice that seemed to come from a great distance.
“Yes, yes! You will soon be well now!”
“But you—you cannot wish to see me get well? You would not wish, even though I have been false to my trust and ruined you, that I should recover and spend the rest of my days in prison? I am an old, old man. At best there could not be many years left for me. They would be made shorter within prison walls.”
“Don’t, professor—don’t talk about prisons!”
“Ah! but I am a criminal! Were I to get well, it would be your duty to send me to prison.”
“Then, for once in my life, at least, I would shirk my duty!” cried Frank.
The thin, cold fingers tightened over the warm ones of the youth, and a light of happiness and admiration showed in the failing eyes.
“You are noble-hearted!” murmured the sick man. “Oh, heavens! how much would I give could I undo the wrong I have done you!”