The clear light of morning filled the room.
“Now don’t go lighting the gas, Rose,” said Uncle Alfred sharply. “That’s you all over, that is: always in a hurry. There’ll be no need of the light yet awhile. Where’s Felix?”
“In the shop. Do you want him?”
“Certainly not. He’s there to look after the business, not to come upstairs. But mind, there’s to be no philandering with young Millar, my girl. I know you.”
Rose looked pitifully down at the shrunken form. Her strong white fingers closed over his restless ones. Uncle Alfred looked down at their joined hands with a faint, detached air of surprise.
“Is Lucian there?”
“Yes,” said the doctor, low and clearly.
“I am obliged to you for all the attention that you have shown me. Human skill can avail little against ... against the Lord. The Lord——”
His voice wandered into a maze of garbled texts and devotional phrases. But the last words that were wholly intelligible Uncle Alfred spoke with his unfaltering gaze fixed upon Rose.
“You’ll find I’ve remembered you. But you can’t touch the capital.” His tone was triumphant. “I’ve done well, with the Lord’s help, and a good business training. There’s nothing like sound investments to build upon—and unless the Lord build the house, how shall it stand?”