He had got
suddenly worse, and Falconer hastened to obey the summons he had
sent him in consequence.
With a heavy heart he walked up to the hospitable door, recalling as
he ascended the steps how he had stood there a helpless youth, in
want of a few pounds to save his hopes, when this friend received
him and bid him God-speed on the path he desired to follow. In a
moment more he was shown into the study, and was passing through it
to go to the cottage-room, when Johnston laid his hand on his arm.
'The maister's no up yet, sir,' he said, with a very solemn look.
'He's been desperate efter seein' ye, and I maun gang an' lat him
ken 'at ye're here at last, for fear it suld be ower muckle for him,
seein' ye a' at ance. But eh, sir!' he added, the tears gathering
in his eyes, 'ye'll hardly ken 'im. He's that changed!'
Johnston left the study by the door to the cottage--Falconer had
never known the doctor sleep there--and returning a moment after,
invited him to enter. In the bed in the recess--the room unchanged,
with its deal table, and its sanded floor--lay the form of his
friend. Falconer hastened to the bedside, kneeled down, and took
his hand speechless. The doctor was silent too, but a smile
overspread his countenance, and revealed his inward satisfaction.
Robert's heart was full, and he could only gaze on the worn face.
At length he was able to speak.
'What for didna ye sen' for me?' he said. 'Ye never tellt me ye was
ailin'.
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