“Not just now, dear.  None of us have seen him since he was put to bed last evening except the doctor and the nurse; but in the course of the day you may.  You will spend the day with us?” Cora inquired.

“I will spend the day and the night, and to-morrow and to-morrow night, and this week and next week, and just as long as I can be helpful and useful to father, if you and mamma there will permit me.  And, by the way, I have not kissed mamma yet.  Only shaken hands with her.”  And so saying, Violet put down her untasted cup of coffee, went around the table, put her arms round Rose’s neck, and kissed her fondly, saying: 

“You are very sweet and lovely, mamma, and I know I shall love you.  I wanted to come and see you before this, but the doctor there wouldn’t allow it.  But now I have come to stay as long as I may be wanted.”

“I should want you forever, sweet wood violet,” cooed Rose, returning her caresses.

Mr. Fabian turned away, half in wrath, half in mirth.  He was much too good humored to be seriously offended as he said to the doctor: 

“Ah! these dove-eyed darlings!  How mistaken we are in them!  You are an old bachelor, Cummins; but if you should ever take it into your head to repent of celibacy, don’t marry a dove-eyed darling, if you don’t want to be defied all the days of your life.”

“I won’t,” said the doctor; “but now I must go and see how Mr. Rockharrt is getting on, and take leave to look after my other patients.”

And he left the breakfast room, followed by Mr. Fabian.

“You and Sylvan will not leave Rockhold for some time,” said Violet, with a little air of triumph.

“Sylvan must leave this morning.  I shall remain until grandfather gets well,” said Cora—­“or dies,” she added, mentally.

In a few minutes Dr. Cummins returned and said that Mr. Rockharrt would see Lieutenant Haught first, and afterward the other members of his family.

Then the physician bade the family good morning, and left the house.

Sylvan went up stairs to their grandfather’s room.

There they found Mr. Fabian seated by the bedside.

Old Martha had gone to her garret to lie down and rest.  The windows were all open, and the summer sun and air lighted and cooled the room.

“Come here, Sylvan,” said the Iron King, and his voice, though hoarse and feeble, was peremptory.

“The young lieutenant went up to the bedside and said: 

“I hope you are feeling better this morning, sir.”

“I hope so, too; but don’t let us waste words in compliments.  Cummins tells me that you wished to bid me good-by.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, bid good-by, then.”

“Grandfather, have you anything to say to me before I go?” respectfully inquired the young man.

“If I had, don’t you suppose that I could say it?  Well, if you wish advice, I will give it you very briefly:  You are an ’officer and a gentleman’—­that is the phrase, I believe?”