"Has he been long ill?" Paul asked.

"It's been coming on gradual for a year or more, sir. Creeping
paralysis is what the doctors call it. He's no use left in his legs,
and very little in his arms or hands; but his brain seems as active as
ever. He took a turn for the worse last week, and the end, they think,
may come at any time."

"Thank you; I'll go upstairs now."

He entered the sick-room so quietly that the nurse, who sat by the
bedside, did not hear him; but the grey head on the pillow turned
quickly, and the dying eyes shone with eager welcome.

"I'm glad you've come; I thought you meant to leave it till too late,"
was the abrupt greeting.

"I was abroad, and did not get your letter at once," Paul said gently.

"And you came back? That's more than many fellows would have done.
Nurse, draw up those blinds, and leave us, please; there are several
things I have to say. No, you need not talk about my saving my
strength. What good will it do? A few minutes more life, perhaps," he
added testily, as he saw the nurse giving Paul some admonition under
her breath. "Women are a nuisance, Paul; and at no time do they prove
it more than when you are ill and under their thumb. There! take a
seat close by me, where I can see you."

"You wanted to see me about something particular, your lawyer told me,"
said Paul, filled with pity at the sight of the perfectly helpless
figure. "It may be that I can carry out some wish of yours. I should
be glad to be of service to you."

Major Lessing did not answer for some minutes, and Paul ascribed his
silence to exhaustion. In reality the keen eyes were scanning Paul's
face critically, as if trying to read his character.

"I wanted to see you; and now you've come I don't know what to make of
you. It has crossed my mind more than once since I've lain here, that
I've been a rash fool to make a man I know so little of, my heir."

Paul could not repress an exclamation of astonishment; the news gave
him anything but unmixed pleasure.

"It was surely very rash, sir. I've no possible claim upon you. I
have scarcely even any connection with you except the name."

"That's it," said the major. "You have the name, and that must be
carried on and a distant tie of relationship; and there's something
else, Paul. Years ago I wanted to marry your mother. You are my
godson; you might have been my real son, you see."

Paul felt a lump in his throat; this love-story of long a