I told him you was gone up to London to fetch a doctor." Walter grasped John Baker's hand.

"God bless you, old man," said he, "for taking that on your conscience! Well, you sha'n't have yourself to reproach for my fault.

I know a first-class gout doctor in London; he has cured it more than once.

I'll wire him down this minute; you'll dispatch the message, and I'll go to my father." The message was sent, and when the Colonel awoke from an uneasy slumber he saw his son at the foot of the bed, gazing piteously at him.
"My dear boy," said he, faintly, and held out a wasted hand.

Walter was pricked to the heart at this greeting: not a word of remonstrance at his absence.
"I fear you missed me, father," said he, sadly.
"That I have," said the old man; "but I dare say you didn't forget me, though you weren't by my side." The high-minded old soldier said no more, and put no questions, but confided in his son's affection, and awaited the result of it.