'Yes—yes—I will, indeed.'
But little more was said. Roland seemed unable to utter anything save incoherent protestations of love and sorrow.
At last, warned by the weariness that was creeping into his father's face, he bade him a very tender and lingering good-night.
'Have me called at once if you are worse—or if I can do anything,' were his last words as he left the room.
The watchful woman's face was by the bed again in an instant.
'I want—' the old man began.
'You want your beef tea, Richard, and here it is.'
As he took it he asked,—
'Is it too late to send for Gates?'