He looked long and hungrily into her face, holding her hands with such a fierce grasp that he hurt her cruelly, though she made no sign.  He did not even thank her—­only held her until every detail of her face had been studied.  She let him do it, and only dropped her eyes and stood colouring warmly under the inquisition.  It was as if she understood that the sight of her was a moment’s sedative for an aching heart, and she must yield it or be more unkind than it was in the heart of woman to be.  When he released her it was with a sigh that came up from the depths, and as she left him he stood and watched her until she was out of sight.

* * * * *

When Matthew Kendrick opened his eyes at ten o’clock on the morning after his fall the first thing they rested upon was the face he loved best in the world.  It came instantly nearer, the eyes meeting his imploringly, as if begging him to speak.  So with some little effort he did speak.  “Well, Dick,” he said slowly, “I’m glad you came, boy.  I wanted you; I didn’t know but I was about getting through.  But—­I believe I’m still here, after all.”

Then he saw a strange sight.  Great tears leaped into the eyes he was looking at, tears that rolled unheeded down the fresh-coloured cheeks of his boy.  Richard tried to speak, but could not.  He could only gently grasp his grandfather’s hand and press it tightly in both his own.

“I feel pretty well battered up,” the old man continued, his voice growing stronger, “but I think I can move a little.”  He stirred slightly under his blanket, a fact the nurse noted with joyful intentness.  “So I think I’m all here.  Are you so glad, Dick, that you can cry about it?”

The smile came then upon his grandson’s lighting face.  “Glad, grandfather?” said he, with some difficulty.  “Why, you’re all I have in the world!  I shouldn’t know how to face it without you.”

The old man dropped off to sleep again, his hand contentedly resting in his grandson’s.  Presently the doctor looked in, studied the situation in silence, held a minute’s whispered colloquy with the nurse, then moved to Richard’s side.  The young man looked up at him and he nodded.  He bent to Richard’s ear.

“Things look different,” he whispered succinctly.  At the slight sibilance of the whisper the old man opened his eyes again.  His glance travelled up the distinguished physician’s body to his face.  He smiled in quite his own whimsical way.

“Fooled even a noted person like you, did I, Winston?” he chuckled feebly.  “Just because I chose to go to sleep and didn’t fidget round much you thought I’d got my quietus, did you?”

“I think you’re a pretty vigorous personality,” responded the physician, “and I’m quite willing to be fooled by you.  Now I want you to take a little nourishment and go to sleep again.  If you think so much of this young man of yours you can have him again in an hour, but I’m going to send him away now.  You see, he’s been sitting right there all night.”