On the evening following Jeffreys' departure from Bolsover, a middle-
aged, handsome gentleman was sitting in his comfortable study in the
city of York, whistling pleasantly to himself.
The house in which he lived was a small one, yet roomy enough for an old
bachelor. And what it wanted in size it made up for in the elegance and
luxury of its furniture and adornments.
Mr Halgrove was evidently a connoisseur in the art of making himself
comfortable. Everything about him was of the best, and bespoke not only
a man of taste but a man of means. The books on the shelves--and where
can you find any furniture to match a well-filled bookcase?--were well
chosen and well bound. The pictures on the walls were all works of art
and most tastefully hung. The knickknacks scattered about the room were
ornamental as well as useful. Even the collie dog which lay luxuriously
on the hearthrug with one eye half open was as beautiful as he was
faithful.
Mr Halgrove whistled pleasantly to himself as he stirred his coffee and
glanced down the columns of the London paper.
If you had looked over his shoulder, you would have come to the
conclusion that Mr Halgrove's idea of what was interesting in a
newspaper and your own by no means coincided.
He was, in fact, reading the money article, and running his eye
skilfully among the mazes of the stocks and shares there reported.
Suddenly there was a ring at the hall door and a man's voice in the
hall. Next moment the study door opened, and amid the frantic
rejoicings of Julius, John Jeffreys walked into the presence of his
guardian. He was haggard and travel-stained, and Mr Halgrove, in the
midst of his astonishment, noticed that his boots were nearly in pieces.
Bolsover was fifty-five miles from York, and the roads were rough and
stony. The guardian, whatever astonishment he felt at this unexpected
apparition, gave no sign of it in his face, as he sat back in his chair
and took several quiet whiffs of his weed before he addressed his
visitor.
"Ah!" said he, "you've broken up early."
"No, sir," said Jeffreys. "Please may I have something to eat?"
"Help yourself to the bread and butter there," said Mr Halgrove,
pointing to the remains of his own tea, "and see if you can squeeze
anything out of the coffee-pot. If not, ring for some more hot water.
Lie down, Julius!"
Jeffreys ate the bread and butter ravenously, and drank what was left in
the coffee-pot and milk-jug.
Mr Halgrove went on with his cigar, watching his ward curiously.
"The roads are rough for walking this time of the year," observed he.
"Yes," said Jeffreys; "I've walked all the way."
"Good exercise," said Mr Halgrove. "How long did it take you?"
"I left Bolsover at half-past four this morning."
Mr Halgrove looked at his watch.
"Fifteen hours--a fairly good pace," said he.
A silence ensued, during which time guardian and ward remained eyeing
one another, the one curiously, the other anxiously.
"Why not sit down," said Mr Halgrove, when it became evident his ward
was not going to open the conversation, "after your long walk?"
Jeffreys dropped heavily into the chair nearest to him and Julius came
up and put his head between his knees.
"Do you often take country walks of this sort?" said the guardian.
"No, sir; I've run away from Bolsover."
Mr Halgrove raised his eyebrows.
"Indeed! Was it for the fun of the thing, or for any special reason?"
"It was because I have killed a boy," said Jeffreys hoarsely.
It spoke volumes for Mr Halgrove's coolness that he took this alarming
announcement without any sign of emotion.
"Have you?" said he. "And was that for fun, or for any special reason?"
"I didn't mean it; it was an accident," said Jeffreys.
"Is the story worth repeating?" asked the guardian, knocking the ash off
the end of the cigar, and settling himself in his chair.
Jeffreys told the story in a blundering, mixed-up way, but quite clearly
enough for Mr Halgrove.
"So you meant to run at him, though you didn't mean to kill him?" said
he, when the narrative was ended.
"I did not mean to kill him," repeated the boy doggedly.
"Of course it would not occur to you that you were twice his size and
weight, and that running over him meant--well manslaughter."
"I never thought it for a moment--not for a moment."
"Was the accident fatal, at once, may I ask?"
"No, sir; he was brought to the school insensible, and remained so for
more than twelve hours. Then he became conscious, and seemed to be
doing well."
"A temporary rally, I suppose?" observed the guardian.
Jeffreys' mouth worked uneasily, and his pale brow became overcast
again.
"No, I believe if it hadn't been for me he might have recovered."
"Indeed," said the other, once more raising his eyebrows; "what further
attention did you bestow on him--not poison, I hope?"
"No, but I went to his room in the middle of the night and startled him,
and gave him a shock."
"Yes; playing bogey is liable to alarm invalids. I have always
understood so," said Mr Halgrove drily.
"I didn't mean to startle him. I fancied he was asleep, and just wanted
to see how he seemed to be getting on. No one would tell me a word
about him," said Jeffreys miserably.
"And that killed him outright?"
"I'm afraid it must have," said Jeffreys. "The doctor had said the
least shock would be fatal, and this was a very great shock."
"It would be. You did not, however, wait to see?"
"No; I waited an hour or two, and then I ran away."
"Did you say good-bye to the head-master before leaving?"
"No; nobody knew of my going."
"Of course you left your address behind you, in case you should be
invited to attend the inquest."
"They know where I live," said Jeffreys.
"Indeed! And may _I_ ask where you live?"
The ward's face fell at the question.
"Here, sir," faltered he.
"Pardon me, I think you are mistaken, John Jeffreys."
Jeffreys looked hard at his guardian, as if to ascertain whether or not
he spoke seriously. His one longing at that moment was for food and
rest. Since Saturday morning his eyes had never closed, and yet,
strange as it may seem, he could take in no more of the future than what
lay before him on this one night. The sudden prospect now of being
turned out into the street was overwhelming.
"I think you are mistaken," repeated Mr Halgrove, tossing the end of
his cigar into the fireplace and yawning.
"But, sir," began Jeffreys, raising himself slowly to his feet, for he
was stiff and cramped after his long journey, "I've walked--"
"So you said," interrupted Mr Halgrove, incisively. "You will be used
to it."
At that moment Jeffreys decided the question of his night's lodging in a
most unlooked-for manner by doing what he had never done before, and
what he never did again.
He fainted.
When he next was aware of anything he was lying in his own bed upstairs
in broad daylight, and Mr Halgrove's housekeeper was depositing a tray
with some food upon it at his side. He partook gratefully, and dropped
off to sleep again without rousing himself enough to recall the events
of the past evening. When, however, late in the afternoon, he awoke,
and went over in his mind the events of the last few days, a dismal
feeling of anxiety came over him and dispelled the comfort of his
present situation. He got out of bed slowly and painfully, for he was
very stiff and footsore. He knew not at what moment his guardian might
return to the unpleasant topic of last night's conversation, and he
resolved to end his own suspense as speedily as possible. He took a
bath and dressed, and then descended resolutely but with sad misgivings
to the library. Mr Halgrove was sitting where his ward had left him
yesterday evening.
"Ah," said he, as the boy entered, "early rising's not your strong
point, is it?"
"I only woke half an hour ago."
"And you are anxious, of course, to know whether you have been inquired
for by the police?" said the guardian, paring his nails.
Jeffreys' face fell.
"Has some one been?" he asked. "Have you heard anything?"
"No one has been as yet except the postman. He brought me a letter from
Bolsover, which will probably interest you more than it does me. It's
there on the table."
Jeffreys took up a letter addressed in Mr Frampton's hand.
"Am I to read it?"
"As you please."