"
"I am sorry."
She smiled at him. The slow smile which transformed her. "I'll
forgive you. Call me up in the morning, please."
She let him out, and went silently up the stairs. The General was
again awake. "I want to talk," he told her; "take off your cap, and
sit where I can look at you."
He was still feverish, still not quite responsible for what he might
say.
She sat with the light falling full upon her. She never made an
unnecessary movement, and her stillness soothed him. She was a good
listener, and he grew garrulous.
At last he spoke of his wife. "Sometimes I think she is here and I
find myself speaking. A little while ago, I thought I heard her moving
in her room, but when I opened my eyes you were bending over me.
Sometimes I seem to hear her singing--there is never a moment that I do
not miss her. If I were good enough I might hope to meet her--perhaps
the Lord will let the strength of my love compensate for the weakness
of my will."
So on and on in the broken old voice.
Bronson came at six, and Hilda went away to have some sleep. While the
General drowsed she had put the collar safely away behind the Chinese
scroll.
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