The frail figure suddenly fell back. "Drusilla! Who calls me that?" The pale lips trembled. "Many, many years have gone since I heard that name."
The man cried out: "Mother dear—Mother dear!"
She turned her eyes upon him. The light of recognition slowly returned to them. "My boy," she said gently. "Come, sit beside me. All three. The little girl who loves me, and you and your child, my grandson."
So they settled themselves, all at her knee. "Mother, dear, did you hear what Suzanna said? Your story of the chain awakened me."
"Awakened you, my boy? But that story and others I told you many years ago, and you forgot."
The tears, hard-wrung, started to his eyes. "But, mother," he said in a low voice, "is it too late? Those truths I learned many years ago from you—is it too late to use them now?" He let his head fall suddenly upon her knee: "Oh, mother, mother, how blind are men; what false gods they worship!"
She did not answer. Graham, a great pity sprung in his heart for his father, spoke: "Father's good, grandmother! He does lots of kind things for people. And he's going to take care of many families whose homes were burned."
"In your name, mother, as Suzanna says," said the man, lifting his head. "And many, many other righteous things in your name, my mother."
Her face grew luminous, with a light lent from some far place. "My boy—my little son—" she whispered.
The white-clad nurse came in again, looked sharply at her patient. "I think," she said softly, "you must all leave now."