When, one bright sunshiny Saturday, I went down to see how he was getting on, I found him worn and haggard, too evidently paying the penalty of sleepless nights and thankless care.

I was a little shocked to hear that Lawrence had been summoned, but when I was taken into the sick room I realised that they had done wisely to send for the favourite son.
The Major was evidently dying.
Never can I forget the cruelty and malevolence with which his bloodshot eyes rested on Derrick, or the patience with which the dear old fellow bore his father's scathing sarcasms.

It was while I was sitting by the bed that the landlady entered with a telegram, which she put into Derrick's hand.
"From Lawrence!" said the dying man triumphantly, "to say by what train we may expect him.

Well ?" as Derrick still read the message to himself, "can't you speak, you d--d idiot?
Have you lost your d--d tongue?
What does he say ?" "I am afraid he cannot be here just yet," said Derrick, trying to tone down the curt message; "it seems he cannot get leave." "Not get leave to see his dying father?
What confounded nonsense.

Give me the thing here;" and he snatched the telegram from Derrick and read it in a quavering, hoarse voice: "Impossible to get away.