One day he roused himself seemingly, and sent for Mr. Speedwell, his
attorney, and Dr. Drake, his family physician. With these gentlemen he
was closeted the entire forenoon; and from that time forward, his hold on
the world and its things seemed to relax.
One morning, when Margie went to take his gruel up to him--a duty she
always performed herself--she found him sitting in his arm-chair, wide
awake, but incapable of speech or motion.
The physician, hastily summoned, confirmed her worst fears. Mr. Trevlyn
had been smitten with paralysis. He was in no immediate danger, perhaps;
he might live for years, but was liable to drop away at any moment. It
was simply a question of time.
Toward the close of the second day after his attack, the power of speech
returned to Mr. Trevlyn.
"Margie!" he said, feebly, "Margie, come here." She flew to his side.
"I want you to send for Archer Trevlyn," he said with great difficulty.
She made a gesture of surprise.
"You think I am not quite right in my mind, Margie, that I should make
that request. But I was never more sane than at this moment. My mind was
never clearer, my mental sight never more correct. I want to see my
grandson."
Margie despatched a servant with a brief note to Archer, informing him
of his grandfather's desire, and then sat down to wait his coming.
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