. "I'll
be calm--anything--only don't refuse a starving man bread! Davy, tell
me!"

"They're here, old man."

"Here! Can I--will they--?"

"Ah, we've got to be careful of you, Jim, old chap," Mr. Linton said.
"You've been a very sick man--and you're not better yet. But they're
only living on the hope of seeing you--of having you again--of making it
up to you."

"And they believe in me?"

"The boy--Dick--never believed a word against you," Mr. Linton said.
"And your wife--ah, if she doubted, she has paid for it again and again
in tears. You'll forgive her, Jim?"

"Yes," he said simply. "I've been bitter enough God knows, but it all
seems gone. You'll bring her, Davy?"

But at the word Norah was out of the room, racing along the hall.

Out in the gardens Dick Stephenson dug mightily in the hard soil, and
his mother watched him, listening always. She heard the flying footsteps
on the gravel and turned quickly to meet Norah.

"Mr. Stephenson, he wants you!"

"Is he worse?" Dick gasped.

"No--I think he's all right. But he knows everything and he wants you
both!"

In his room the Hermit heard the steps in the hall--the light, slow
feet, and the man's tread, that curbed its impatience, lingering to
support them. His breath came quickly as he stared at the door.

Then for a moment they faced each other, after the weary years; each
gaunt and wan and old, but in their eyes the light and the love of long
ago. The hermit's eyes wandered an instant to his son's face, seeking in
the stalwart man the little lad he knew. Then they came back to his
wife.

"Mary!"

"Jim!" She tottered to the bed.

"Jim--can you forgive me?"

"Forgive--oh, my girl!" The two grey heads were close together. David
Linton slipped from the room.

CHAPTER XVIII. EVENING

They were all sitting on the lawn in the twilight.

Norah had dispensed afternoon tea with laborious energy, ably seconded
by Dick, who carried cups and cake, and made himself generally useful.
Then they had talked until the sun slipped over the edge of the plain.
There was so much to talk of in those days.

The Hermit had been allowed to leave his room a fortnight since. He was
still weak, but strength was coming every day--strength that follows on
happiness. Norah declared he grew better every day and no one
contradicted her.

He and his wife sat hand in hand. They were rarely seen any other
way--perfect content on each placid face. Dick lay on the gra