'Uncle Arthur,' Maude replied; 'I have not seen him yet. And Jerrie, too, she has scarcely been here to-day.'
Maude's request was made known to Arthur, who, two or three hours later, went to her room, and kissing her lips, told her how sorry he was to see her so sick, and that he hoped she would soon be better.
Frank had been alone with Maude for a long time that day, and he was with her now, sitting upon the side of her bed, near the head, with his arm across her pillow, and his eyes fixed anxiously upon her as she held her conference with his brother.
'No, uncle,' she said; 'I shall never be any better in this world; but by-and-by, pretty soon, I shall be well in the other And I want to tell you how glad I am for you and Jerrie, and to thank you for your kindness to us all these years, when Jerrie should have been here in our place.'
'Yes, yes,' Arthur said, with a wave of his hand. 'Only I didn't know. If I had—'
'It would have been so different,' Maude interrupted him. 'I know that, but I want you to be kind to poor father still, and forgive him, he is sorry, and—'
'Oh, Maude, Maude,' came like a groan from Frank, as he laid his hand on Maude's lips, while Arthur replied:
'Forgive him! For what? He couldn't help being here. I sent for him. He did not keep Jerrie from her rightful position as my daughter. If he had I could never forgive him. Why, I believe I'd kill him, or any other one who, knowing that Jerrie was my daughter, kept it from me.'
He was gesticulating now with both hands, and Jerrie, who had listened wonderingly to the conversation, took hold of them as they were swaying in the air, and said to him softly:
'Father!'