There was no doubt in it. It was a wild, glad, embracing sob. It was the utterance of an empty heart suddenly filled. He was breathing rapidly from the excitement, but he freed his other hand and with the two clung almost fiercely to the boy’s arm.
“You’ve come back,” he whispered.
“Yes,” answered Barnes, finding his voice, “I’ve come back.”
The voice for a second seemed to startle the old man. His hold relaxed. The girl who had crept to the other side of him raised her head with her eyes fixed on Barnes, scarcely breathing. The old man’s eyelids fluttered as though he were straining to force them open.
“I’ve come back,” repeated Barnes.
“I can feel you, but your voice—Oh, it’s enough now that I can feel you! I’ve often heard your voice, lying here but—but my hands were always empty.”
The girl breathed again. Barnes met her eyes. He nodded encouragement. It was as he had thought; the fact of a living tangible presence here was enough to dispel all minor doubts.
“You’ve been gone so long,” faltered the father, “I—I had forgotten. I expected to see you as you were when you left.”
“I was a boy when I left,” answered Barnes.
“Yes, yes, and I was not boy enough. You—you forgive, Joe?”