His bell pealed through the house, and when Richard appeared, he found his master partially raised in bed, excited and breathless.
"Send to the office at once," he said; "tell them to send me up the files of the year —— immediately! And who brought this letter?"
"A lady called with it, sir. She said she would return for the answer in about an hour."
"Did she leave her name?"
"Yes, sir—Miss Joan Bentley, she wished me to say."
"When she comes back, bring her up to me"—and the old man sank exhausted on his pillows, his eyes closed, but a faint smile upon his lips.
It was less than an hour later when a little tap on the door aroused him.
"Come in," he said, not opening his eyes, till he heard the soft rustle of a dress beside his bed. Then he looked up, but it was the woman who spoke first.
"Why, John," she said brokenly—"why, John!" And all at once the shyness that had assailed her as she climbed the stairs slipped from her; the gulf of years that had seemed impassable became as nothing, and she dropped on her knees by the bed, looking into the tired old face upon the pillow, with wistful yearning eyes.
He put out his hand almost timidly, and laid it upon hers.