“Mab,” came in Georgia’s tones through the half-closed door, “I hear Dick’s voice. Bring him in—bring him in.”
“Oh, go on. She mustn’t get up; it’ll hurt her,” cried Mabel, pushing the door open.
“Georgie, if you get up,” cried Dick, charging into the room, “I’ll—Oh, Georgie, Georgie!” He fell on his knees by the bed, and there was a long silence, interrupted only by broken words and sobs. As for Mabel, she banged the door, and rushed away to cry somewhere in private.
“My poor dear boy!” said Georgia at last, her voice still trembling, as she passed her hand over Dick’s forehead, “you have wanted me very much, haven’t you?”
“Your boy is a very old boy, I’m afraid—quite grey-haired now, Georgie. Wanted you? of course I have—words can’t express how much.”
“I know. And you called to me one whole day and night, didn’t you?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so. But how did you know?”
“I heard you. I tried to get to you, Dick, but they wouldn’t let me.”
“It’s a mercy they didn’t. Oh, Georgie, you blessed woman, what it is to see you again!”
“And—?” cried Georgia. “Oh, you’ve forgotten—I’ve forgotten! Look here, Dick. You have never even thought of him. Take him up, and hold him in your arms.”