That his son was lost
was all he understood.
How long he lay there he scarcely knew, but it seemed to him weeks. At
last he heard footsteps on the stairs. He endeavoured vainly to raise
himself, and, though he strove to cry out, his tongue refused to frame
the words. Lying there, living and yet lifeless, he saw the door open
and Amos enter. The old man hesitated a moment, for the room was dark,
while Gregorio, who had easily recognised his visitor, lay impotent on
the floor. Before Amos could become used to the darkness the door again
opened, and Madam Marx entered with a lamp in her hand. Amos turned
to see who had followed him, and, in turning, his foot struck against
Gregorio's body. Immediately, the woman crying softly, both visitors
knelt beside the sick man. A fierce look blazed in Gregorio's eyes, but
the strong words of abuse that hurried through his brain would not be
said.
"He is very ill," said Amos; "he has had a stroke of some sort."
"Help me to carry him to my house," sobbed the woman, and she kissed
the Greek's quivering lip and pallid brow. Then rising to her feet, she
turned savagely on the Jew.
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