'Oh, father, father, no, no--not yet--don't say that--I can't do without you. Oh, why have I left you since you have been ill?' The old man caressed him silently. There was a sort of pleasure in feeling oneself regretted with this passion of sorrow and longing. After a while. 'Rowley,' said he, as the sobs grew less frequent and less violent, 'I'm going to ask you to do something for me.' 'Anything you like, father--the harder the better.' 'It ought not to be very hard to you, my son. Promise me that you will always keep good friends with Dick.' 'Yes--yes--I will, indeed.' But little more was said. Roland seemed unable to utter anything save incoherent protestations of love and sorrow. At last, warned by the weariness that was creeping into his father's face, he bade him a very tender and lingering good-night. 'Have me called at once if you are worse--or if I can do anything,' were his last words as he left the room. The watchful woman's face was by the bed again in an instant. 'I want--' the old man began. 'You want your beef tea, Richard, and here it is.' As he took it he asked,-- 'Is it too late to send for Gates?' 'Oh, no; and it's such a little way for him to come.' Mr Gates was a member of a firm of Stockport solicitors, and his country house was but a stone's-throw from Thornsett Edge. It was not long before he in his turn occupied that chair by the bed. He bore with him an atmosphere of jollity which even the hush of that sick-room was powerless to dispel. He was not unsympathetic either, by any means, but he seemed made up of equal parts of kindheartedness and high spirits, and looked much more like an ideal country squire than like the ordinary legal adviser. As a matter of fact, he was more at home on the moor side or in the stubble than among dusty documents and leather-bound Acts of Parliament. It was his boast that he only had eight clients, and that he lived on them, and, judging by his appearance, they furnished uncommonly good living. He had a genial, hearty way with him which made him a favourite with every man, woman and child he came across, and he knew quite enough law to fully justify the confidence of the eight above mentioned. 'What, Mr Ferrier, still in bed! Why, we thought old Gibson would have had you on your legs again in no time. I quite expected to see you driving over to the Wirksvale wakes to-morrow.' 'I shall never go behind any but the black horses again, Gates. It's no use. I'm settled, and I want you to alter my will.' 'I'll alter your will with pleasure, if you like. Though I must say it's so much more sensible than most people's wills that I wonder you want to alter it; but you mustn't talk of black horses and that sort of thing for another ten years. Don't lose heart; you'll live to alter your will a score of times yet.'