After a short consultation, the three chosen witnesses returned to the bed-side, the admiral being spokesman.
"The express will be off in ten minutes. Sir Wycherly," he said; "and you may hope to see your relative, in the course of the next two or three days."
"Too late—too late," murmured the patient, who had an inward consciousness of his true situation; "too late—turn the will round—Sir Reginald, Tom;—Tom, Sir Reginald. Turn the will round."
"Turn the will round!—this is very explicit, gentlemen, to those who can understand it. Sir Reginald, Tom;—Tom, Sir Reginald. At all events, it is clear that his mind is dwelling on the disposition of his property, since he speaks of wills. Atwood, make a note of these words, that there need be no mistake. I wonder he has said nothing of our brave young lieutenant, his namesake. There can be no harm, Mr. Rotherham, in just mentioning that fine fellow to him, in a moment like this?"
"I see none, sir. It is our duty to remind the sick of their duties."
"Do you not wish to see your young namesake, Lieutenant Wycherly Wychecombe, Sir Wycherly?" asked the admiral; sufficiently emphasizing the Christian name. "He must be in the house, and I dare say would be happy to obey your wishes."
"I hope he is well, sir—fine young gentleman—honour to the name, sir."
"Quite true, Sir Wycherly; and an honour to the nation, too."
"Didn't know Virginia was a nation—so much the better—fine young Virginian, sir."
"Of your family, no doubt, Sir Wycherly, as well as of your name," added the admiral, who secretly suspected the young sailor of being a son of the baronet, notwithstanding all he had heard to the contrary. "An exceedingly fine young man, and an honour to any house in England!"