He made no motion.

“Father, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“I—I have been a bad daughter to you. I am sorry. It is late now to tell you, but I am sorry. Can I do anything?”

“Otto,” he said, with difficulty.

“You want to see him?

“No.”

She knew what he meant by that. He would have the boy remember him as he had seen him last.

“You are anxious about him?”

“Very—anxious.”