She bowed her head. “Sir Harold speaks to your portrait every night. He misses you so much. I thought maybe if I wore your necklace, I could ask you for strength. Strength to take care of him. I promise I will never steal from this house. I promise I will not abandon him. I will look after him like I looked after my own father when he was sick.”
Harold’s hand froze above the phone. His anger dissolved into shock. Paige slowly removed the necklace. She polished it carefully with the corner of her apron, then placed it back in the box exactly as she had found it. She wiped her tears and whispered, “Thank you, Mrs. Whitman. I will do my best.”
She turned toward the door.
“Paige.”
The voice came strong and clear, nothing like the frail tone he usually used. Paige spun around. Harold was standing without the cane. He removed his dark glasses and looked directly at her.
“Sir,” Paige gasped. “You can see.”
She dropped to her knees. “Please forgive me. I did not mean to steal. I only tried it on. Please do not call the police. I will leave immediately.”
Harold walked toward her, not with anger but with emotion that shook his voice. He lifted her gently by the shoulders.