Jessop winced, for these words were very pregnant of meaning, and showed only too well the place he would take after his father’s death.
“There,” said his father, pressing his hand, “that is all. I know your nature, boy, so I will not ask you to promise things which you cannot perform. Go now.”
“Not stay with you, father?” said the young man, speaking for the first time.
“No; go now. I’ve done my duty by you, boy; now go and do yours by your brother. Good-bye, Jessop.” There was dead silence, and the old man spoke again as he grasped his son’s hand, “Good-bye, Jessop, for the last time.”
“Good-bye, father,” was the reply; and then, with head bent, the young man walked slowly out.
“Hah! that’s over!” sighed the dying man. “He will not break his heart, Doctor; and if I had left him double, it would do him no good. Now then, Praed, I want to see little Janet. Where is she?”
“Downstairs in the drawing-room.”
“That’s right. Go and fetch her. Tell her not to be frightened. She shan’t see me die, for it won’t be yet.”
The Doctor left the bedroom, and the old man was alone with his younger son.
“Take hold of my hand, Clive. Sit down, my lad. That’s right. There, don’t look so cut up, my boy. I’m only going to sleep like a man should. It’s simply nature; not the horror fanatics teach us. Now I want to talk business to you for a few minutes, and then business and money will be dead to me for ever.”