"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.