Robert Dalrymple the elder gazed at him; a yearning gaze. And an uneasy sensation stole over his son.
"I am going to leave you, Robert."
He understood, and sank down by the side of the bed. It was as if a thunderbolt had struck him: and one that would leave its trace throughout life.
"Father! It cannot be!"
"In a day or two, Robert. That is all of time they can promise me now."
He cried out with a low, wailing cry, and let his head drop on the counterpane beside his father.
"You must not take it too much to heart, my son. Remember: that is one of my dying injunctions."
"I wish I could die for you, father!" he passionately uttered. "I shall never forgive myself."
"I forgive you heartily and freely, Robert. My boy, see you not that this must be God's good will? I could die in peace, but for the thought of your mother and sisters. I can but leave them to you: will you take care of and cherish them?"
He lifted his head, speaking eagerly. "I will, I will. They shall be my only care. Father, this shall ever be their home. I swear——"