The brow of the dying man suddenly cleared; the eyes burned with their old steadiness, then the lips parted.
"Read it," he muttered. The words were barely audible.
Cobb held the paper so the dim light should fall upon it and read the contents slowly, emphasizing each word.
"Raise me up."
The voice seemed to come from his throat, as if his lungs were closed. Oliver started forward, but Cobb, being nearer, slipped his arm under the wasted figure, and with the tenderness of a woman, lifted him carefully, tucking the pillows in behind the thin shoulders for better support. Oliver sank softly to his knees beside Margaret.
Again the thin lips parted.
"Read it once more." The voice came stronger now.
Amos held the paper to the light, and the words of the telegram, like the low tick of a clock, again sounded through the hushed room.
For a brief instant the inventor's eyes sought each face in turn. As his gaze rested on Margaret and Oliver, he moved his thin white hand slowly along the coverlet, and laid it first on Oliver's and next on Margaret's head. Then, with a triumphant look lighting his face, he lifted his arms toward his wife.
"Sallie!" he called, and fell back on his pillow, lifeless.