for him, and wondered where he was, and felt
himself deserted and abandoned in his dying moments. He spurred his
horse to a gallop, and soon reached Clifford Hall. As he was afraid to
go straight to his father's room, he went at once to old Baker, and
said, in an agitated voice,

"One word, John--is he alive?"

"Yes, sir, he is," said John, gravely, and rather sternly.

"Has he asked for me?"

"More than once or twice, sir."

Walter sank into a chair, and covered his face with his hands. This
softened the old servant, whose manner till then had been sullen
and grim.

"You need not fret, Mr. Walter," said he; "it's all right. In course I
know where you have been."

Walter looked up alarmed.

"I mean in a general way," said the old man. "You have been a-courting of
an angel. I know her, sir, and I hope to be her servant some day; and if
you was to marry any but her, I'd leave service altogether, and so would
Rhoda Milton; but, Mr. Walter, sir, there's a time for everything: I hope
you'll forgive me for saying so. However you are here now, and I was
wide-awake, and I have made it all right, sir."

"That's impossible," said Walter. "How could you make it right with my
poor dear father, if in his last moments he felt himself neglected?"

"But he didn't feel himself neglected."

"I don't understand you," said Walter.

"Well, sir," said old Baker, "I'm an old servant, and I have done my duty
to father and son according to my lights: I told him a lie."

"A lie, John!" said Walter.

"A thundering lie," said John, rather aggressively. "I don't know as I
ever told a greater lie in all my life. I told him you was gone up to
London to fetch a doctor."

Walter grasped John Baker's hand. "God bless you, old man," said he, "for
taking that on your conscience! Well, you sha'n't have yourself to
reproach for my fault. I know a first-class gout doctor in London; he has
cured it more than once. I'll wire him down this minute; you'll dispatch
the message, and I'll go to my father."

The message was sent, and when the Colonel awoke from an uneasy slumber
he saw his son at the foot of the bed, gazing piteously at him.

"My dear boy," said he, faintly, and held out a wasted hand. Walter was
pricked to the heart at this greeting: not a word of remonstrance at
his absence.

"I fear you missed me, father," said he, sadly.

"That I have," said the old man; "but I dare say you didn't forget me,
though you weren't by my side