Humphrey held out his hand.
"Tell her, man," said the doctor, impatiently—"tell her what she wants."
"Since you desire it"—Humphrey obeyed, coldly and reluctantly—"I forgive you. Will that do?"
Alice raised her head; she pushed back her hair with her left hand. Molly held her up. She gazed upon her son's face; it was cold and hard and pitiless. She stooped over her son's hand; it was cold and hard, and seemed as pitiless as his face—there was no warmth nor impression in the hand. She bent her head and kissed it. Her tears fell upon it—her silent tears. Humphrey withdrew his hand. He looked round, as if asking what next.
Dick went to the door, and pointed to the stairs, holding the door open.
Alice lay back on the pillow. The doctor took her wrist again.
"Doctor," she whispered, "I have never wholly lost my boy till now."
Her eyes closed. Her cheek grew white.
The doctor laid down her hand. "Never," he said, "till now."