How and when would they see him again?
There was one other call upon his time. The day was wearing into the
afternoon, but he would not neglect it. This was to see his old
_protege_, Abram Franklin, in whom he had never lost interest, and for
whose welfare he had cared, though he had not seen him in more than two
years. He knew that Abram was ill, had been so for a long time, and
wished to see him and speak to him a few friendly and cheering
words,--sure, from what the boy's own hand had written, that this would
be his last opportunity upon earth to so do.
Thus he went on from his father's stately palace up Fifth Avenue, turned
into the quiet side street, and knocked at the little green door. Mrs.
Franklin came to open it, her handsome face thinner and sadder than of
old. She caught Surrey's hand between both of hers with a delighted cry:
"Is it you, Mr. Willie? How glad I am to see you! How glad Abram will
be! How good of you to come!" And, holding his hand as she used when he
was a boy, she led him up stairs to the sick-room. This room was even
cosier than the two below; its curtains and paper cheerfuller; its
furniture of quainter and more hospitable aspect; its windows letting in
more light and air; everything clean and homely, and pleasant for weary,
suffering eyes to look upon.
Abram was propped up in bed, his dark, intelligent face worn to a
shadow, fiery spots breaking through the tawny hue upon cheeks and lips,
his eyes bright with fever.
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