He had taken her hand as if without knowing what he did and fairly dragged her into the room. His mother had risen and stood waiting.
"It is a success," he cried out to her. "It is what he meant it to be—I have finished his work!"
She turned from him to the girl, uttering a low cry of appeal.
"Christian!" she said. "Christian!"
The girl went to her and made her sit down, and knelt before her, clasping her arms about her waist, and uplifting her glowing young face. At the moment her beauty became such a splendor that Murdoch himself saw it with wonder.
"It is finished," she said. "And it is he who has finished it! Is not that enough?"
"Yes," she answered, "but—but——"
And the words died upon her lips, and she sat looking before her into vacancy, and trembling.
Murdoch threw himself on the sofa and lay there, his hands clasped above his head.
"I shall be a rich man," he said, as if to himself, "a rich man—and it is nothing—but it is done."