“I will not love him as much,” was the sturdy answer.
It was the General who spoke next.
“That is right, my boy. All I ask is that you will love me some.” He was pleading with this young commissioner.
“I will, if you are good to my mother.” His eyes were fastened on him without a tremor, and the General's deep-set eyes began to glow with hope.
“That 's a bargain,” he said holding out his hand. The boy took it gravely.
Just then the door opened and Lucy Hampden entered. Her face was calm and her form was straight. Her eyes, deep and burning, showed that she was prepared either for peace or war. It was well for the General that he had chosen peace. Better otherwise had he charged once more the deadliest battle line he had ever faced. For a moment the General saw only Lucy Fielding.
With a woman's instinct the young widow comprehended at the first glance what had taken place, and although her face was white, her eyes softened as she advanced. The General had turned and faced her. He could not utter a word, but the boy sprang towards her and, wheeling, stood by her side.
Taking his hand, she led him forward.
“Oliver,” she said, gently, “this is your father's father.” Then to the General, in a dead silence—“Father, this is your son's son.”
The General clasped them both in his arms.