Old Ferrier lay looking at the pictures in a tremor of expectation that made the time seem very long indeed. At last his strained sense caught the faint click of the Brahma lock as it was opened by a key from without, and the bang of the front door as it was closed somewhat hurriedly from within. 'There they are,' he said at once. 'Send them up, Letitia.' As she laid her hand on the door to open it, another hand grasped the handle on the other side, and a tall, broad-shouldered young fellow came in, with the glisten of rain still on his brown moustache, and on his great-coat, seeming to bring with him a breath of freshness and the night air. 'Ah, Dick! I was just coming down for you. Where is Roland?' 'He stayed awhile at Aspinshaw. How's father?' 'Awake, and asking for you,' said his aunt, and went away, closing the door softly. 'Well, dad, how goes it?' said the new-comer, stepping forward into the glow of the firelight. 'Light the candles,' said his father, without answering the question, and the young man lighted two in heavy silver candlesticks which stood on the dressing-table. As their pale light fell on the white face lying against the hardly whiter pillow, Dick's eyes scrutinised it anxiously. 'You don't look any better,' he said, sitting down by the bed, and taking his father's hand. 'I wish I'd been at home when that doctor came yesterday.' 'I'm glad you weren't Dick; I'd rather tell you myself. I wish your brother were here.' 'I daresay he won't be long,' said the other, frowning a little, while the lines about his mouth grew hard and set; 'but what did the doctor say? Aunt Letitia didn't seem to know anything about it.' 'He told me I shouldn't live to see another birthday,' said the old man. He had rehearsed in his own mind over and over again how he should break this news to his boys, and now he was telling it in a way quite other than any that had been in his rehearsals. 'Not see another birthday!' echoed his son. 'Nonsense! Why, father,' he added, with a sudden start, 'your birthday's on Wednesday. How could he? I'll write to him.' 'My dear boy, I felt it before he told me. He only put into words what I've known ever since I've been lying here. There's no getting over it. I'm going.' Dick did not speak. He pressed his father's hand hard, and then, letting it fall, he walked over to the hearthrug, and stood with his hands behind him, looking into the fire. 'Come back; come here!' said the wavering voice from the bed. 'I want you, Dick.' 'Can't I do something for you, dad?' he said, in very much lower tones than usual, as he sat down again by the bed. He kept his face in the shadow of the curtain. 'We've always got on very well together, Dick.' 'Yes--we've been very good friends.' 'I wish you were as good friends with your brother as you are with your old father.' 'I'm not bad friends with him; and, after all, your father's your father, and that makes all the difference.'