“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. CHAPTER LXIV. _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. “The good baronet is gone!” said the physician. She turned away. Her eyes glided over Richard as if she had never before seen him. He went up to the bed, and she walked from the room. When Richard came out, he found Wingfold where he had left him, and got into the pony-carriage beside him. The parson drove off. “His tale is told,” said Richard, in a choking voice. “He did not speak, and I cannot tell whether he knew me, but I had his last look, and that is something. I would have been a good son to him if he had let me--at least I would have tried to be.” He sat silent, thinking what he might have done for him. Perhaps he would not have died if he had been with him, he thought.