“He asked for me?”
“Yes. Will you come?”
“He asked for me? Tonight? At eleven o’clock?”
She said: “I don’t think he knows even what month it is. He has only been conscious for a day or two. Had he known it was Christmas night perhaps he might not have disturbed you. But—will you come?”
“I am afraid it is too late—to-night.”
“Tomorrow, then? Shall I tell him?”
There was a silence. She repeated the question. But Graylock’s reply was inaudible and she thought he said good-bye instead of good night.
Somewhere in the rear of the basement the janitor and his family and probably all his relatives were celebrating. A fiddle squeaked in there; there was a steady tumult of voices and laughter.
The girl stood a while listening, a slight smile on her lips. Blessed happiness had come to her in time for Christmas—a strange and heavenly happiness, more wonderful than when a life is spared to one who loves, for it had been more than the mere life of this man she had asked of God: it had been his mind.
He lay asleep when she entered and stood by the shaded lamp, looking down at him.