"Oh, I think so now—we didn't at first. Only one side is affected. He can even move the hand a little. Of course, it may be a long time."
Jeff listened in a daze. The baby stare had come into his eyes again, and it moved from one object in the room to another—always returning to the door of the darkened room into which Cortland had vanished. There was an odor of medicine, the sound of crackling ice, and now the murmur of voices. A moment later one of the nurses appeared in the doorway.
"Mr. Wray," she said, "you may come in."
And Jeff entered, passing Cortland, who stood with bowed head at the door. In the darkness he could just make out the white figure of the old man propped up against the pillows. He breathed with difficulty, and Jeff, unused to scenes of sickness, felt all his heart go out in pity for the helpless old man who was calling for him.
"Is he here?" the General murmured. "Is he here?"
Jeff moved quietly around the bed to the chair which the nurse had placed for him, "Yes, sir," he said huskily. "It's Jeff."
The General's right hand groped feebly along the covers, and Jeff took it in both of his own. "Cort told me you wanted me, sir."
"I'm glad—very glad." He turned his head and tried to smile. "It was—so—so sudden—the news," he said with an effort, "to find out——"
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't want you to know."
"I'm glad to know. It makes me—happy. I've been trying for so many years to find you."