“My son”—he explained.
“Nothing serious, I hope. Not—?”
“Yes—dead!”
There was a long pause, during which the rector 116 stood breathing heavily, with one hand upon his heart. Mr. Barnby folded the forged checks mechanically, and stammered out:
“Under—the—er—circumstances, I think this interview had better be postponed. Pray accept my condolences, sir. I am deeply, truly sorry.”
“Gone!—killed!—and he didn’t want to go.”
With the tears streaming down his cheeks, the stricken man turned once more to the telegram, and muttered the vital purport of its message:
“Died nobly rendering special service to his country. Captured and shot as a spy having courageously volunteered to carry dispatches through the enemy’s lines.”