“No,” she said quickly. She came close to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
“You look as if you had seen a ghost,” he said. “What is it, Norah?”
“I—I thought I had, too,” she stammered. “But it was better than a ghost. Daddy—Daddy!” she broke down, clinging to him, laughing and crying.
“What is it?” cried David Linton. “For God’s sake tell me, Norah!” He sprang to his feet, shaking.
“He’s here,” she said. “He isn’t dead.” Suddenly she broke from him and ran to the bell. “Jim,” she said; “Jim has come back to us, Daddy.”
The door was flung open, and Jim came in, with great strides.
“Dad!”
“My boy!” said his father. They gripped each other’s hands; and Norah clung to them both, and sobbed and laughed all at once.
“Let me sit down, children,” said David Linton presently; and they saw that he was trembling. “I’m getting an old man, Jim; I didn’t know how old I was, until we lost you.”
“You couldn’t get old if you tried,” said Jim proudly. “And you can’t lose me either—can he, Norah?” They drew together again; it seemed complete happiness just to touch each other—not to speak; to be together. Afterwards there would be explanations; but they seemed the last thing that mattered now.