The speculum that was never to reflect the bright face of the moon was
easily moved now, and Tom stooped down and picked up one by one the
three triangular pieces, and laid them upon the bench, to find then that
a good-sized elliptical piece, something in shape like a fresh-water
mussel-shell, yet remained upon the stones. This he raised, and found
that it fitted in at the edge beneath.
There was nothing to be gained in what he did, but Tom stood there
carefully fitting the fractures together, and spending a great deal of
time over the task, while the mirror reflected his sorrowful face as he
bent over it. And as he ran his fingers along the three lines of union,
the boy's thoughts went back to the scene that evening at Mornington
Crescent, when the big china vase was dragged down, to break to shivers
in the hall.
"And Sam said I broke that, just as David says I broke this, and all to
escape blame. I don't want to tell uncle that David broke it, but I
must; I'm not going to take the blame myself, for it would be cowardly
as well as lying. But it is so hard. He will be so angry."
So Tom communed as he pieced the fragments of the mirror together,
ending by getting the sponge, rinsing it well, and carefully removing a
few smears and finger-marks, before taking a clean cloth and wiping it
quite dry.
"That's no good," he said bitterly. "I'm only doing it so as to keep
from going and telling uncle, and I must tell him--I must tell him, and
the sooner the better."
But still he did not stir. He picked up the blanket, and folded that up
neatly, to lay it beside the speculum, and then looked round for
something else to do.
This he found in the window, which he opened and shut two or three times
over, before drawing away from it, with a sigh, and going to the door to
look across at the house, where his uncle would be writing.
"I ought to go and tell him, but it is so hard to do. Suppose he thinks
it is my work--suppose David goes and accuses me of having broken it to
escape himself."
Tom stood aghast at the idea, and was for rushing across at once, but
something seemed to hold him back, and a good half-hour passed before he
fully strung himself up to go.
Then, closing and locking the door, he did the same by the gate; and
now, pale and firm enough, he hung up the keys, and then went straight
to the study door, paused for a few moments to think what to say first,
and then walked straight in.
"Uncle, I've come to give you very bad news," he said in a husky voice,
and then he stopped short.
There was no one in the room, and on going out into the hall, he found
that his uncle's hat and stick were missing, and consequently he must
have gone down the village to post his letters, and perhaps drop in at
the Vicarage on his return.
"Oh, how tiresome!" thought Tom; "just too when I felt I could tell him.
Now I must begin all over again."
It was not until nearly two o'clock that Uncle Richard returned, looking
very serious; and as they went into the little dining-room alone, Mrs
Fidler having stopped back to give some orders respecting the dinner,
Tom screwed himself up to make the announcement, which would have come
easily enough if it had not been for David's charge, and a shrinking
feeling which it had engendered, that Uncle Richard might fancy the same
thing. But at last the boy, in his consciousness of innocence, was
ready to speak, and turned to him.
"Uncle," he said quickly, "I want to say something to you about the
speculum."
"Not now, my boy; I have something else to think about. Let that rest."
Tom's lips parted, and he drew a deep breath of relief at what seemed to
him to be a reprieve. Then Mrs Fidler entered the room, and dinner
commenced, with Uncle Richard looking very thoughtful.
It was impossible to say anything before Mrs Fidler, Tom thought, for
if he was to be in any way blamed, he determined that it should be when
alone. In addition, he felt that he should not like to speak of David's
delinquency before the housekeeper.
It was a delicious dinner, but poor Mrs Fidler soon began to look
troubled, for her master got on very badly; and Tom, who had felt as if
his plate had been filled with bitter sand, so hard was the task of
eating, refused a second help!
This was too much for Mrs Fidler, who looked piteously from one to the
other, and exclaimed--
"Is there anything the matter with the veal pie, sir?"
"Eh? Matter, Mrs Fidler?" said Uncle Richard. "I hope not. I really
don't know. Oh, I see. I have hardly tasted it. The fact is, Mrs
Fidler, I am in trouble."
Tom jumped in his chair.
"David has told him," he said to himself, and he felt hot and cold.
"I have heard something this morning which has disturbed me a good
deal."
Uncle Richard turned his eyes upon his nephew, who tried to speak, but
no words would come.
"Dear, dear me, sir," said the housekeeper. "I am so sorry."
"I know you are," said Uncle Richard. "The fact is, my brother met with
an accident some little time ago, and it was thought to be of no
consequence, but it seems that it is, and the doctors have ordered that
he should at once have change of air. He has written to me this morning
to that effect."
"Then he don't know anything about it," said Tom, with a sigh of relief,
which gave place to a feeling of annoyance, for he wished now that his
uncle did know.
"He asks me to have him here for a few days or weeks, and of course I
have written to beg that he will come. I hope our air will set him
right again, and that it is not so serious as he thinks."
"Then you'd like me to get a room ready for him at once, sir?" said Mrs
Fidler, with alacrity.
"If you please, Mrs F."
"It shall be done, sir. I am so glad--I mean so sorry. I was afraid
something was wrong here."
"No, Mrs Fidler, there is nothing wrong here; but I'm afraid, Tom, that
the visitor will put a stop to our telescopic work."