"Must you go?" asked Sally, despairingly.
"I'm afraid so. It's the last thing one can do for him, poor old chap!"
"He might have chosen some other time to be ill," said Sally, who, not knowing the major, was inclined to be heartless.
"Well, yes. But we won't lose our holiday; we'll come again later, Sally."
"We shan't! I'm perfectly certain we shan't!" cried Sally, turning away her head so that Paul should not see that there were tears in her eyes. "It was too delightful a plan to carry out."
The next day found Paul and his sister back in London. Sally was to go to an aunt for a few days, until Paul could settle his plans; and when he had seen her off from the station, he turned his own steps in the direction of the quiet square where his godfather had spent his solitary life since the days of his retirement from active service. His eyes turned instinctively to the windows, to see if the blinds were drawn down; but the house wore its usual aspect of dignified reserve, with its slightly opened casements. The imperturbable butler, who answered Paul's ring at the bell, seemed at first inclined to question his right to enter.
"My master is very sadly, sir; he's not fit to see any one."
"But he sent for me," said Paul, quietly. "Will you let him know, as soon as possible, that Paul Lessing has come in answer to his letter?"
At the mention of the familiar name Smith's manner altered perceptibly; he threw open the library door and ushered Paul in. It was scarcely a minute before he returned.
"My master is awake and will see you at once, sir."