It is only the prolonged wail of a last farewell.' All this was said in the old man's ordinary voice, but it seemed to betoken if not feeling itself, a recognition of feeling which the son had not expected.
'It is very sad,' said the son.
'Therefore, why prolong it?
Stand not upon the order of your going but go at once,--seeing that it is necessary that you should go.

Will you take any more wine?
No?
Then let us go into the other room.

As they are making company of you and have lighted another fire, we will do as they would have us.' Then for the rest of the evening there was some talk about books, and the father, who was greatly given to reading, explained to his son what kind of literature would, as he thought, fit in best with the life of a gold-digger.
After what had passed, Caldigate, of course, took his departure on the following morning.

Good-bye said the old man, as the son grasped his hand, 'Good-bye.' He made no overture to come even as far as the hall in making this his final adieu.
'I trust I may return to see you in health.' 'It may be so.

As to that we can say nothing.