“You may rest assured that I shall not lose a day, when once my physician has given me leave to go. Can’t you sit longer? Another visit yet? Ah, I am sorry.” And he accompanied me to the door of his sitting-room.
As we stood there for a moment, exchanging the customary civilities of leave-taking, my eye fell upon the little book the Don had laid upon a shelf of his book-case.
It was a copy of the New Testament.
| [1] | The quail is unknown in Virginia—both bird and word.—Ed. |
CHAPTER XVII.
At about the hour at which I was taking leave of the Don my grandfather was sitting alone in his dining-room, reading; his snow-white hair and beard, as they glistened in the lamp-light, affording a strong contrast to the vivacity of his dark eyes and the ruddy glow of his complexion. But the book before him was hardly able to fix his attention. Every now and then he would raise his eyes from its pages, with the look of one who fancied that he heard an expected sound. Several times he had risen from his seat, gone to the door, opened it, and listened. Something like this he had been doing now for nearly a week. “Dick!” called he at last, opening the door: “Dick!”
Uncle Dick emerged from the kitchen, where, for several days past, he had had orders to sit up till ten o’clock in the hope that Charley might arrive.
“Yes, mahster!”
“Dick, I thought I heard some one coming.”