“Why didn’t he stay and help you?”
“I begged him to do so,” answered Simon,
“for he is almost as good at the anvil, and
quite as good at the shoring as myself; but he said
it would annoy his father to have him so near, and
he wouldn’t do it.”
His boy’s good will made the baronet fidget
and swear to hide his compunction. But his evil
angel got the upper hand.
“The rascal knew,” he cried, “that
nothing would annoy me so much as have him go back
to his mire like the washed sow!”
Perceiving Simon look dangerous, he turned with a
hasty good-morning, and made for his carriage, casting
more than one uneasy glance over his shoulder.
But the blacksmith let him depart in peace.
THE BARONET’S FUNERAL.
It was about a year after Richard’s return to
his trade, when one morning the doctor at Barset was
roused by a groom, his horse all speckled with foam,
who, as soon as he had given his message, galloped
to the post-office, and telegraphed for a well-known
London physician. A little later, Richard received
a telegram: “Father paralyzed. Will
meet first train. Wingfold.”
With sad heart he obeyed the summons, and found Wingfold
at the station.
“I have just come from the house,” he
said. “He is still insensible. They
tell me he came to himself once, just a little, and
murmured Richard, but has not spoken since.”
“Let us go to him!” said Richard.
“I fear they will try to prevent you from seeing
him.”
“They shall not find it easy.”
“I have a trap outside.”
“Come along.”
They reached Mortgrange, and stopped at the lodge.
Richard walked up to the door.
“How is my father?” he asked.
“Much the same, sir, I believe.”
“Is it true that he wanted to see me?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Is he in his own room?”
“Yes, sir; but, I beg your pardon, sir,”
said the man, “I have my lady’s orders
to admit no one!”
While he spoke, Richard passed him, and went straight
to his father’s room, which was on the ground-floor.
He opened the door softly, and entered. His father
lay on the bed, with the Barset surgeon and the London
doctor standing over him. The latter looked round,
saw him, and came to him.
“I gave orders that no one should be admitted,”
he said, in a low stern tone.
“I understand my father wished to see me!”
answered Richard.
“He cannot see you.”
“He may come to himself any moment!”
“He will never come to himself,” returned
the doctor.
“Then why keep me out?” said Richard.
The eyes of the dying man opened, and Richard received
his last look. Sir Wilton gave one sigh, and
death was past. Whether life was come, God only,
and those who watched on the other side, knew.
Lady Ann came in.
