"Geoff," he sighed, "I'm not goin' to ask you to forgive me yet, I can't—I'm goin' t' wait an' show you—"
But as he paused Ravenslee's hand was upon the lad's drooping shoulder.
"Arthur," said he, "from now on—from to-night—you are going to be my brother more than ever—a brother we shall both be proud of—what do you say?"
But Spike's eyes were wet, his mouth quivered, and instead of answering he buried his face in the pillow again.
"Say, Hermy," he mumbled, "take him away before I do th' tear-gushin' act! Take him down-stairs—give him a drink—light him a cigarette—kiss him! Only take him away before I get mushy. But, say—when I'm in bed, you'll—you'll come an'—say good night like—like you used to, Hermy dear?"
Swiftly she stooped and kissed that curly head.
"I'll come—oh, I'll come, boy, dear!" she murmured, and left him with Mrs. Trapes.
Down-stairs the fire glowed, filling the room with shadows, and side by side they stood looking down into the heart of the fire and were silent awhile, and, though she was so near, he didn't touch her.
"So it wasn't Arthur, after all!" he said at last.
"No," she answered softly, "it wasn't Arthur—thank God!"