Ernest Maltravers (Electronic book text)

The wheels stopped again. Lights flitted across the basement story; and one above, more dim than the rest, shone palely from the room in which the sick man slept. The bell rang shrilly out from amidst the dark ivy that clung around the porch. The heavy door swung back--Maltravers was on the threshold. His father lived--was better--was awake. The son was in the father's arms.