"Shall I call him?"
"Yes, please."
Lucy returned, and Uncle Gilbert met Chester in the hall.
"He is very nervous again this morning, and I don't think you ought to excite him," explained the brother.
"I must see him—just for a minute. I'll not engage him in any extended conversation."
"That you cannot do as he can hardly speak. His trouble affects him in that way."
"Let me see him just for a moment—alone, please. Is he awake?"
"Oh yes; he's not that bad. Go in a moment, then, but be careful."
Chester passed in where the minister sat in an arm chair, propped up with pillows, signs of Lucy's tender care. As Chester entered, the man smiled and reached out his hand. The resentment in the young man's heart vanished, when he saw the yearning in the suffering man's face. Yet he stood for some time rooted to the spot, looking at the man who was no doubt his father. Every line of that face stood out boldly to Chester. How often, in his boyhood days he had pictured to himself what his father was like—and here he was before him. In those days he had nursed a hatred against that unknown sire, but now there was no more of that. If only,—Chester kneeled by the side of the minister's chair, letting the old man cling to his hand. He looked without wavering into the drawn face and said: