He's jes' come from de big ship." St.George twisted his head, looked long and earnestly into Harry's face, and with a sudden cry of joy stretched out his hand and motioned him nearer.

Harry sank to his knees beside the bed.

St.George curved one arm about his neck, drew him tightly to his breast as he would a woman, and fell back upon the pillow with Harry's head next his own.
There the two lay still, St.George's eyes half closed, thick sobs stifling his utterance, the tears streaming down his pale cheeks; his thin white fingers caressing the brown hair of the boy he loved.

At last, with a heavy, indrawn sigh, not of grief, but of joy, he muttered: "It's true, isn't it, my son ?" Harry hugged him the tighter in answer.
"And you are home for good ?" Again the pressure.

"Yes, but don't talk, you must go to sleep.