"You are right. I will give you some more light."
Little by little, the doctor raised the blind. Philip did not stir. Faithful to his instructions, as soon as the light was let in, he began assiduously using his brush.
Dora, languid and ignoring all that was taking place around her, was mechanically mixing her colours, while waiting for Dr. Templeton to tell her that he had finished his experiment, and that she might rise from her seat. The room was now quite light.
"Well, doctor," said she, "is it over?" She turned round, and saw Philip at work on the portrait, and absorbed in his occupation, as he had been in the dear old days gone by. Palette and pencils fell from her hands. She gazed silent and breathless. She took her head in both hands, as if to assure herself that she was awake and not dreaming.
Philip turned with an imploring look in his eyes. Then, laying down his brush and palette, he rose slowly and stood with open arms.
Dora uttered one cry, "Philip!" and, sobbing with joy, she buried her face in her husband's breast.
"Dora, my Dora!" repeated Philip, caressing the beautiful head that lay once more in his embrace.
They remained for several minutes, oblivious of everything around, united in a new-found exquisite bliss.
Hobbs ran to hide her own tears and emotions in the bedroom of her beloved mistress.
"Well, my dear doctor," said Lorimer, "we have had an afternoon's work, but it has been successful, eh?"