“My boy, you must get up this minute; I’ve sent for the doctor, and your father wants you and Maggie to come to him.”
“Is he worse, mother?”
“He’s been very ill all night with his head, but he doesn’t say it’s worse; he only said suddenly, ‘Bessy, fetch the boy and girl. Tell ’em to make haste.’”
Maggie and Tom threw on their clothes hastily in the chill gray light, and reached their father’s room almost at the same moment. He was watching for them with an expression of pain on his brow, but with sharpened, anxious consciousness in his eyes. Mrs Tulliver stood at the foot of the bed, frightened and trembling, looking worn and aged from disturbed rest. Maggie was at the bedside first, but her father’s glance was toward Tom, who came and stood next to her.
“Tom, my lad, it’s come upon me as I sha’n’t get up again. This world’s been too many for me, my lad, but you’ve done what you could to make things a bit even. Shake hands wi’ me again, my lad, before I go away from you.”
The father and son clasped hands and looked at each other an instant. Then Tom said, trying to speak firmly,—
“Have you any wish, father—that I can fulfil, when——”
“Ay, my lad—you’ll try and get the old mill back.”
“Yes, father.”
“And there’s your mother—you’ll try and make her amends, all you can, for my bad luck—and there’s the little wench——”