He took the wasted, fevered hand in his, and laid his soothing fingers on the damp brow. Miss Tamlyn went away for a minute's respite from the sick-room.
"Why didn't you come before, Arnold?" was the low, weak answer; and the breath was laboured and the voice down nowhere. "I have wanted you. Aunt Bessy would not write; and papa thought you would not care to come down from London, just for me."
"But I would, Bertie--had I known you were as ill as this."
Bertie's hands were restless. The white quilt had knots in it as big as peas, and he was picking at them. Dr. Knox sat down by the low bed.
"Do you think I am dying?" suddenly asked Bertie.
It took the doctor by surprise. One does not always know how to answer such home questions.
"I'll tell you more about it when I've seen you by daylight, Bertie. Are you in any pain?"
"Not a bit now: that's gone. But I'm weak, and I can't stir about in bed, and--and--they all look at me so. This morning papa and Shuttleworth brought in Dr. Green. Any way, you must know that I shall not get to be as well as I used to be."
"What with one ailment and another, with care, and pain, and sorrow, and wrong, it seems to me, Bertie, that very few of us are well for long together. There's always something in this world: it is only when we go to the next that we can hope for rest and peace."
Bertie lifted his restless hands and caught one of Dr. Knox's between them. He had a yearning, imploring look that quite pained the doctor.
"I want you to forgive me, Arnold," he said, the tears running down. "When I remember how wicked I was, my heart just faints with shame. Calling all of you hideous names!--returning bitter words for kind ones. When we are going to die the past comes back to us. Such a little while it seems to have been now, Arnold! Why, if I had endured ten times as much pain, it would be over now. You were all so gentle and patient with me, and I never cared what trouble I gave, or what ill words I returned. And now the time is gone! Arnold, I want you to forgive me."
"My dear boy, there's nothing to forgive. If you think there is, why then I forgive you with all my heart."
"Will God ever forgive me, do you think?"
"Oh, my boy, yes," said the doctor, in a husky tone. "If we, poor sinful mortals, can forgive one another, how much more readily will He forgive--the good Father in heaven of us all!"