“Oh! thank you, Luis’ father! God bless you, God take care of you!”
“Oh! the divine pity of childhood,” murmured Ninian, huskily. “She forgets that it was he who wronged her in the fact that he has now set her right.”
The sick man’s face brightened, nor did he withdraw his hand.
“You forgive me?”
“Yes, yes.”
“The little Luis. The son I never saw. What shall you tell him of his father?”
“That he was good to me, and that he suffered.”
“More. Tell the boy this: I never knew he lived. I should have known, I should have searched. I did not. Ask him, too, to forgive me. And because of me, turn him not away.”
The nurse motioned all the others to go out, and they went, Ninian Sharp himself standing guard over the dress-suit case the attendant had relocked until it was once more safely deposited in the strong box of the hospital, where even Antonio’s greedy eyes could see it no longer.
But Jessica knelt on, awed and silent, yet now quite unafraid. And Luis Garcia still clasped her hand and fixed his fading gaze upon her pitying face.