At last he kept his bed altogether.
What Derrick bore at this time no one can ever know. 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.
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