Katy would know; for she was coming at last. A telegram had announced that she was on the road; and with nervous restlessness Wilford asked repeatedly what time it was, reducing the hours to minutes, and counting his own pulses to see if he could last so long.
“Save me, Doctor,” he whispered to Morris, “keep me alive till Katy comes. I must see Katy again.”
And Morris, tenderer than a brother, did all he could to keep the feeble breath from going out ere Katy came.
The train was due at five; but it was dark in the hospital, and from every window a light was shining, when Morris carried, rather than led, a quivering figure up the stairs and through the hall to the room where the Camerons were, the father standing at the foot of Wilford’s bed, and Bell bending over his pillow, administering the stimulants which kept her brother alive. When Katy came in, she moved away, as did her father, while Morris too stepped back into the hall; and thus the husband and wife were left alone.
“Katy, precious Katy, you have forgiven me?” Wilford whispered, and the rain of tears and kisses on his face was Katy’s answer as she hung over him.
She had forgiven him, and she told him so when she found voice to talk, wondering to find him so changed from the proud, exacting, self-worshiping man to the humble, repentant and self-accusing person, who took all blame of the past to himself, and exonerated her from every fault. But when he drew her close to him, and whispered something in her ear, she knew whence came the change, and a reverent “Thank the good Father,” dropped from her lips.
“The way was dark and thorny,” Wilford said, making her sit down where he could see her as he talked, “and only for God’s goodness I should have lost the path. But he sent Morris Grant to point the road, and I trust I am in it now. I wanted to tell you with my own lips how sorry I am for what I have made you suffer; but sorriest of all for sending Baby away. Oh, Katy, you do not know how that rested upon my conscience. Forgive me, Katy, that I robbed you of your child.”
He was growing very weak, and he looked so white and ghastly that Katy called for Bell, who came with her father, and the three stood together around the bedside of the dying.
“You will remember me, Katy,” he said, “but you cannot mourn for me always, and sometime in the future you will cease to be my widow, and, Katy, I am willing. I wanted to tell you this, so that no thought of me should keep you from a life where you will be happier than I have made you.”
Wholly bewildered, Katy made no reply, and Wilford was silent a few moments, in which he seemed partially asleep. Then rousing up, he said,