"'I did not hear your name,' said Jack, very gently, 'but, of course, hearing you wished to see me——' he hesitated. 'Were we at Ryeburn together?'
"'Yes,' said the dying man. 'My—my name is Sawyer—Philip Sawyer—but you only knew my surname, of course.'
"Jack understood it all. Even before the name was mentioned, the slight nervous stammer, the faint peculiarity of accent, had recalled to his memory the poor young junior master, whose short, apparently unsuccessful, Ryeburn career had left its mark on the lives of others besides his own.
"Jack understood—not so the sick man. He was surprised and almost bewildered by the eagerness with which his visitor received his announcement.
"'Sawyer, Mr. Sawyer!' he exclaimed. 'You cannot imagine how glad I am to see you again. I don't mean—I am terribly sorry to see you like this—but I have so often wished to find you, and I could never succeed in doing so.'
"He turned as he spoke to Captain Montagu.
"'I'll stay with him for an hour or two—as long as I can,' he said. 'I think,——' he added, glancing at the extempore sick-nurse, and hesitating a little. Captain Montagu understood the glance.
"'Come, Watson,' he said to the young soldier, 'Mr. Berkeley will sit with—with Mr.——'
"'Sawyer,' said Jack.
—"'With Mr. Sawyer for a while. Shall he return in an hour, Berkeley?'