Part 13 (1/2)
”Did he ask you to call me?”
”Certainly.”
”Then--you are with him?”
”Yes.”
”Where?”
”In his apartment. I came downstairs to the janitor's rooms. I am telephoning from there what he wished me to ask you.”
After a pause Graylock said: ”Is his mind perfectly clear?”
”Perfectly, now.”
”He asked for me?”
”Yes. Will you come?”
”He asked for me? Tonight? At eleven o'clock?”
She said: ”I don't think he knows even what month it is. He has only been conscious for a day or two. Had he known it was Christmas night perhaps he might not have disturbed you. But--will you come?”
”I am afraid it is too late--to-night.”
”Tomorrow, then? Shall I tell him?”
There was a silence. She repeated the question. But Graylock's reply was inaudible and she thought he said good-bye instead of good night.
Somewhere in the rear of the bas.e.m.e.nt the janitor and his family and probably all his relatives were celebrating. A fiddle squeaked in there; there was a steady tumult of voices and laughter.
The girl stood a while listening, a slight smile on her lips. Blessed happiness had come to her in time for Christmas--a strange and heavenly happiness, more wonderful than when a life is spared to one who loves, for it had been more than the mere life of this man she had asked of G.o.d: it had been his mind.
He lay asleep when she entered and stood by the shaded lamp, looking down at him.
After a while she seated herself and took up her sewing. But laid it aside again as there came a low knocking at the door.
Drene opened his eyes as Graylock entered all alone and stood still beside the bed looking down at him. In the studio Cecile moved about singing under her breath. They both heard her.
Drene nodded weakly. After a moment he made the effort to speak:
”I am trying to get well--to start again--better--live more--n.o.bly. ...
Take your chance, too.”
”If you wish, Drene.”