Presently his left hand, that lay on the coverlet, began moving. The fingers twitched with a beckoning motion and he raised his arm several times and let it fall again listlessly. I fancied I was conscious of some dumb appeal addressed to me, toward which my own soul yearned in sympathy. Yet, strive as I would, I could not interpret it. An inexpressible trouble seemed lost and wandering in the fathomless depths of the eyes; passionate utterance seemed ever hovering on the lips, ever escaping the grasp of will and sliding back into blackness. “Dad,” I said, “what is it? Try to express by a sign and I will try to understand.” The hand rose again, weakly fluttered in the air and dropped upon the coverlet. Thrice the effort was made and thrice I failed to interpret its significance. Then a little quivering sigh came from the mouth and the eyes closed in exhaustion. I racked my brains for the meaning of the sign. Some trouble, it was evident, sought expression, but what--what--what? My mind was all dulled and confused by the incidents of the last few days. While I was vainly struggling for a solution old Peggy entered the room with tea and bread and butter for my afternoon meal. She paused with the tray in her hands, watching the blind groping of the fingers on the bed. “Ay,” she said, “but I doubt me ye cudn’t hold a pen, master.” I turned sharply to her. “Is that what he wants?” “Pen or pencil--’tis arl one. When speech goes, we talk wi’ the fingers.” What a fool I had been! The sign I had struggled in vain for hours to read, this uncanny old beldame had understood at a glance. I hurried out of the room and returned with paper and pencil. I thrust the latter between the wandering fingers and they closed over it with a quick, weak snap. But they could not retain it, and it slipped from them again upon the coverlet. A moan broke from the lips and the arm beat the clothes feebly. “Heave en up,” said the old woman. “He’s axing ye to.” I put my arm under my father’s shoulders and with a strong effort got him into a sitting posture, propped among the pillows. I placed the pencil in his hand again and held the paper in such a position that he could write upon it. He succeeded in making a few hieroglyphic scratches on the white surface and that was all. “It’s no manner o’ use, Renalt,” said Peggy. “Better lat en alone and drink up your tea.” “Put it down there and leave us to ourselves.” The old creature did as she was bidden and shuffled from the room grumbling. I placed the paper where my father’s hand could rest upon it, and sat down to my silent meal.