"Oh, he has found that out," said Walter. "Then I'll go to him like a bird, dear old fellow. So that is what he wanted to tell me."
"No," said John Baker, gravely.
"No," said Walter; "what then?"
"It's trouble."
"Trouble," said Walter, puzzled.
"Ay, my poor young master," said Baker, tenderly—"sore trouble, such trouble as a father's heart won't let me, or any man break to you, while he lives to do it. I know my master. Ever since that fellow Bartley came here we have seen the worst of him; now we shall see the best of him. Go to him, dear Master Walter. Don't waste time in talking to old John Baker. Go to your father and your friend."
Walter Clifford cast a look of wonder and alarm on the old man, and went down at once to the drawing-room. His father was standing by the fire. He came forward to him with both hands, and said,
"My son!"
"Father," said Walter, in a whisper, "what is it?"
"Have you heard nothing?"