“Mr. Stephenson, he wants you!”
“Is he worse?” Dick gasped.
“No—I think he’s all right. But he knows everything and he wants you both!”
In his room the Hermit heard the steps in the hall—the light, slow feet, and the man’s tread, that curbed its impatience, lingering to support them. His breath came quickly as he stared at the door.
Then for a moment they faced each other, after the weary years; each gaunt and wan and old, but in their eyes the light and the love of long ago. The hermit’s eyes wandered an instant to his son’s face, seeking in the stalwart man the little lad he knew. Then they came back to his wife.
“Mary!”
“Jim!” She tottered to the bed.
“Jim—can you forgive me?”
“Forgive—oh, my girl!” The two grey heads were close together. David Linton slipped from the room.