"He is not asleep," said Dorothy, stretching forward and laying her hand upon his arm. "He has been waiting long for thee."
Her voice startled Nicholas, who had become sublimely unconscious of his surroundings; and incoherently murmuring some remark, maybe the conclusion of one of his prayers, he turned round and fixed his gaze upon the form of the dying man.
"Reverend father," he exclaimed in a subdued and quiet voice, "I am here to aid thee."
Father Philip turned himself round with difficulty and faced the speaker.
"Dorothy," he called.
"I am here, father," she replied, "I have never left thee."
"Take it away from my eyes, child," he commanded.
Father Philip never called her child except on rare occasions when her conduct displeased him, and she would have felt hurt at the appellation now had it not been for the unusual circumstances of the case. She looked inquiringly at him to fathom his meaning, but, seeing nothing to remove, she would have asked him what it was he meant, had he not interrupted her.
"Take it away, Dorothy," he repeated, "I cannot see."
"Poor brother," exclaimed Nicholas, noticing the discomfiture. "I fear me thou art blind. There is naught to take away, save the film from off thine eyes."