"Sit down, Andrew," said Philip in a tone of authority. The old man's face was pallid, and he was swaying to and fro as though unable to stand; but he caught the sense of Philip's words, and stretched out his hands like one groping in the dark. He felt it seized in Philip's strong grasp.
"Sit here," he said, drawing him into the porch, "and when you are yourself again I will explain it all."
It seemed to Andrew as if the hour of death was come. He had lived to have the desire of his heart, had lived to know his girl's fate and to see her child with his own eyes. Now let him die. Not as Simeon died when he said, "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace." He was about to depart in bitterness and desolation of soul, having seen that which he had longed for; and behold! the sight was a horror and a curse to him. There was a thick darkness gathering around him. Why, then, did he not die? Philip's strong young hand was grasping his, and his clear voice was speaking to him.
"O Andrew!" he said, "I was coming down to Apley to tell you, and prepare you for seeing Martin, and then to bring you back here with me. He is neither a savage nor an idiot. He is improving rapidly, and by and by we shall bring him to Apley. But you would not have him there at present, would you?"
Andrew felt his heart beat again, and the darkness began to give place to the familiar light of day. He opened his eyes, and the ashy paleness passed from his aged face. Now he looked up into Philip's face, that face which had been so dear to him for many years.
"I will tell Martin who you are," he said.
But Martin seemed incapable of understanding it. He knew well that he had had a mother, for had not everyone about him, from his earliest childhood, given him an extra kick because she was lost in hell? But that this unhappy mother should have had a father, who was still alive, was more than he could comprehend. He stood looking vacantly at the old man for a minute or two, and then crept away bareheaded and barefooted to the gates. As soon as he was through them he set off at a run, and they watched his tall, bent figure scudding over the moorland till they could see him no longer.
"Yes, Mr. Philip," cried Andrew, with a groan, "yes, you're doing the best for him and me. But I shall never lift up my head again, never more."