“I can tell you, for your satisfaction, that your son is well, M'Evoy. Believe me, he is well—I know it.”
“Well! Before God, does your honor spake truth? Well! Oh, sir, for His sake that died for us, an' for the sake of his blessed mother, can you tell me is my darlin' son alive?”
“He is living; is in excellent health; is as well dressed as I am; and has friends as rich and as capable of assisting him as myself. But how is this? What's the matter with you? You are pale! Good God! Here, waiter! Waiter! Waiter, I say!”
The Colonel rang the bell violently, and two or three waiters entered at the same moment.
“Bring a little wine and water, one of you, and let the other two remove this man to the open window. Be quick. What do you stare at?”
In a few minutes the old man recovered, and untying the narrow coarse cravat which he wore, wiped the perspiration off his pale face.
“Pray, don't be too much affected,” said the Colonel. “Waiter, bring up refreshment—bring wine—be quiet and calm—you are weak, poor fellow—but we will strengthen you by-and-by.”
“I am wake, sir,” he replied; “for, God help us! this was a hard year upon us; and we suffered what few could bear. But he's livin', Colonel. Our darlin' is livin! Oh, Colonel, your kindness went to my heart this day afore, but that was nothin'—he's livin' an' well! On my two knees, before God, I thank you for them words! I thank you a thousand an' a thousand times more for them words, nor for what your honor did about Yallow Sam.”
“Get up,” said the Colonel—“get up. The proceedings of the day have produced a revulsion of feeling which has rendered you incapable of sustaining intelligence of your son. He is well, I assure you. Bring those things to this table, waiter.”
“But can your honor tell me anything in particular about him, sir? What he's doin'—or what he intends to do?”