“Oh, my dear, my dear!” stammered the woman.
“There, take down the chain, Berry.”
“I—I don’t think I ought, my dear. Stop a minute, and I’ll go and ask him.”
“No, no. Let me go up at once. You’ll be quite right in letting me.”
The woman uttered a gasp, closed the door, and softly unhooked the chain, after which she opened the door just sufficiently for the boy to pass in, and closed and fastened it again.
The hall was dark as could be, save for a faint gleam from the fanlight; but Frank could have gone blindfold, and dashing over the marble floor to the foot of the staircase, he bounded up two steps at a time, reached the door of the back room, beneath which shone a line of light, and turned the handle sharply. As he did so, there was a dull sound within, and the light was extinguished.
“Open the door, father,” whispered the boy, with his lips to the keyhole. “It is I—Frank.”
There was the dull tremor of a heavy step crossing the floor, the door was unlocked, and the boy sprang forward in the darkness, the door was closed and relocked, and he was clasped in a pair of strong arms.
“Oh, dad, dad, dad!” cried the lad, in a panting whisper.
“My own boy! Then you saw me this afternoon?”