It was with such a smile that he greeted Brandon, and with both of his thin white hands pressed the strong and muscular hand of the other.
“And you are Edith’s brother,” he said. “Edith’s brother,” he repeated, resting lovingly upon that name, Edith. “She always said you were alive, and once she told me she should live to see you. Welcome, brother of my Edith! I am a dying man. Edith said her other brother was alive—Frank. Where is Frank? Will he not come to stand by the bedside of his dying friend? He did so once.”
“He will come,” said Brandon, in a voice choked with emotion, as he pressed the hand of the dying man. “He will come, and at once.”
“And you will be all here, then—sweet friends! It is well.”
He paused.
“Bice!” said he at last.
Beatrice, who was sitting by his head, bent down toward him.
“Bice,” said Langhetti. “My pocket-book is in my coat, and if you open the inside pocket you will find something wrapped in paper. Bring it to me.”
Beatrice found the pocket-book and opened it as directed. In the inside pocket there was a thin, small parcel. She opened it and drew forth a very small baby’s stocking.
“Look at the mark,” said Langhetti.