"So he was, so he was, till a few months gone. He's never recovered a heavy chill he took at the beginning of the winter. His lordship's bound up in him, and it do fret him to see Master Lance dwindle."
"Ah! I am very sorry," said Mr. Graydon, and a cloud came over his face. "I am sorry for the boy and for his lordship, too. Health is a great blessing, Thorndyke."
"It is, indeed, sir. I am glad you have yours. Come in here, sir, and I'll let his lordship know."
He opened the door of a room lined with books in heavy bindings, and motioned Mr. Graydon to enter. The atmosphere was close and warm, though the fire was low in the grate. But Mr. Graydon did not notice that his wet coat was steaming, and that he felt damply and uncomfortably warm. He had other things to think of.
"Papa, papa!" she cried.
Presently the door was sharply opened, and a red-faced, irascible-looking old man came in. He glared fiercely at his visitor as he hobbled to a chair.
"Well, Archibald," he said, using the name as if it were distasteful to him. "To what am I indebted for the honour of your visit after all those years?"
"I would have come before, sir, but for your own words."
"I'm not unsaying my words. They are as good now as they were then."