"I beg your pardon, sir," said Gates, crossing and standing before him, "but Mr. Bernard has returned."
Colonel Treves, who held a book on his knee, laid down his big reading glass on its open page, and lifted his head slowly. There was a stern light in his old faded eyes.
"I won't see my son, Gates!"
"Pardon me, sir," protested the old servant, "I think you would like to see him."
Colonel Treves rose to his feet, felt for his stick, and began to move feebly across the room.
"He is no son of mine, Gates," he said, as he went. "You can tell him that. A liar and a humbug," he said. "Always a liar and a humbug. No soul of truth in him, no honour——"
But Gates, the faithful servant of thirty years, knew his master well. He made no attempt to argue with the Colonel, but moved quietly to the door behind which John was waiting, and whispered, "Come in, Mr. Bernard."
John entered, and crossing the soft carpet laid his hand on the old Colonel's shoulder. The Colonel turned quickly, flinging up his head in indignation, then something took place on his face that touched John to the heart. The old firm lips quivered a moment.
"Is that you, Bernard?" he asked. He came nearer, peering at John, looking at the upright, uniformed figure. "I can't believe it," he added.
"It is true, sir," said John. "I received a commission a month ago."