"Take my arm, boy," said the Colonel, suddenly; "lead me back to the chair."
John led him across to his deep chair, and Gates softly went out of the room. When the Colonel was seated, he fumbled for his strong glasses, and put them on with fingers that shook visibly. Once again he looked John over from head to foot.
"It's the good blood that tells," he said after a long pause. Suddenly he broke into a laugh. "Do you know, Bernard, boy," he said, "a minute ago I was telling Gates you were no son of mine. You see, I thought you had broken your promise; you broke it so often before."
"That may be, sir," answered John quietly, "but this time I managed to keep it."
He permitted John to help him into his chair at the hearthside, and John, at his bidding, rang the bell.
"Gates," said the Colonel, when the old servant entered, "serve tea up here; I and my boy will have it together."
"Very good, sir."
"Now, Bernard, boy, tell me your news!" demanded the old soldier, when Gates had left the room.
John gave a sketchy, vague account of his doings during the past weeks.
"And so you are with Colonel Hobin. You must give him my kind remembrances; we met thirty years ago, when he was a subaltern at Aldershot. He had the making of a good soldier, I remember." He talked on, on general matters, and all the while John felt that his mind was solely occupied with his pride and satisfaction at seeing his son in uniform once again. In his excitement and pleasure he forgot two letters that had reposed on his desk for two days, waiting for John. Finally, he remembered them. "I must give you your letters, Bernard."