bough almost brushed the glass, and the slope of turf came so high up the wall, that an active youth could easily swing himself down to it; and the superintendent significantly remarked that the punt was on the farther side of the stream, whereas the evening before it had been on the nearer. Dr. May leant out over the window-sill, still in the lingering hope of seeing—he knew not what, but he only became oppressed by the bright still summer beauty of the trees and grass and sparkling water, insensible of the horror that brooded over all. He drew back his head; and as the door hard by was opened, Leonard’s little dog sprang from her basket kennel, wagging her tail in hopes of her master, but in her disappointment greeting one whom dogs always hailed as a friend,
‘Poor little doggie! good little Mab! If only you could tell us!’ and the creature fondly responded to his gentle hand, though keeping aloof from Henry, in mindfulness of past passages between them, while Henry could evidently not bear to look at her.
They gazed round the room, but it conveyed no elucidation of the mystery. There were Leonard’s books in their range on the drawers, his fossils in his cupboard, his mother’s photograph on his mantel-piece, his sister’s drawings on the wall. His gray uniform lay on the bed as if recently taken off, his ordinary office coat was folded on a chair, and he seemed to have dressed and gone in his best clothes. While anxiously seeking some note of explanation, they heard a step, and Sam Axworthy entered, speaking fast and low in apology for not having sooner appeared, but he had been thoroughly upset; as indeed he looked, his whole appearance betraying the disorder of the evening’s dissipation, followed by the morning’s shock.
Most unfortunate, he said, that he had not returned earlier. His friend Black—Tom Black, of Edsall Green—had driven him home in his dog-cart, set him down at the turn to cross the fields—moon as light as day—no notion, of the lateness till he got in sight of the great clock, and saw it was half-past twelve; so knowing the early habits of the place, he had thought it best to turn back, and get a bed at the Three Goblets. If he had only come home, he might have prevented mischief! There ensued a few commonplace words on the old man’s infirm state, yet his independent habits, and reluctance to let any servant assist him, or even sleep near him. Sam spoke as if in a dream, and was evidently so unwell, that Dr. May thought it charitable to follow the dictates of his own disgust at breaking bread in that house of horrors, and refuse offers of breakfast. He said he must go home, but would return for the inquest, and asked whether Henry would remain to meet his brother.
‘No, no, thank you,’ said Henry huskily, as with the driest of throats, and a perceptible shudder, he turned to go away; the Doctor pausing to caress little Mab, and say, ‘I had better take home this poor little thing. She may come to harm here, and may be a comfort to the sister.’
No objection came from Sam, but Mab herself ran back to her house, and even snarled at the attempt to detach her from it. ‘You are a faithful little beast,’ he said, ‘and your master will soon be here to set all straight, so I will leave you for the present;’ and therewith he signed farewell, and breathed more freely as he gained the outer air.
‘I’ll tell you what, Henry,’ he said, as they drove out of the courtyard, ‘we’ll bring out Bramshaw to watch the case. He will see through this horrible mystery, and throw the suspicion in the right quarter, whatever that may be, depend upon it.’
Henry had thrown himself back in the carriage with averted face, and only answered by a groan.
‘Come, don’t be so downcast,’ said Dr. May; ‘it is a frightful affair, no doubt, and Leonard has chosen a most unlucky moment for this escapade; but he will have a thorough warning against frolics.’
‘Frolics indeed!’ said Henry, bitterly.
‘Well, I’ll be bound that’s all he has attempted, and it has got him into a horrid scrape; and ten to one but the police have got the real ruffians in their hands by this time.’
‘I have no hope,’ said Henry.
‘More shame for you not to feel a certain confidence that He who sees all will show the right.’
‘If!’ said Henry, breaking off with a sound and look of such intense misery as almost to stagger the Doctor himself, by reminding him of Leonard’s violent temper, and the cause Henry had to remember his promptness of hand; but that Ethel’s pupil, Aubrey’s friend, the boy of ingenuous face, could under any provocation strike helpless old age, or, having struck, could abscond without calling aid, actuated by terror, not by pity or repentance, was more than Dr. May could believe, and after brief musing, he broke out in indignant refutation.
‘I should have thought so. I wish I still could believe so’ sighed Henry; ‘but—’ and there they lapsed into silence, till, as they came near the town, Dr. May offered to set him down at Bankside.
‘No! no, thank you,’ he cried in entreaty. ‘I cannot see her—Ave.’
‘Then come home with me. You shall see no one, and you will look up when you are not faint and fasting. You young men don’t stand up against these things like us old stagers.’
As the carriage stopped, several anxious faces were seen on the watch, but the Doctor signed them back till he had deposited Henry in his study, and then came among them.
Gertrude was the first to speak. ‘O, papa, papa, what is it! Mrs. Pugh has been here to ask, and Ethel won’t let me hear, though Tom and Aubrey know.’
‘I took refuge in your order to believe nothing till you came,’ said Ethel, with hands tightly clasped together.
‘It is true, then?’ asked Tom.
‘True that it looks as bad as bad can be,’ said the Doctor, sighing heavily, and proceeding to state the aspect of the case.
‘It is a trick—a plot,’ cried Aubrey passionately; ‘I know it is! He always said he would run away if they tried to teach him dishonesty; and now they have done this and driven him away, and laid the blame on him. Ethel, why don’t you say you are sure of it?’
‘Leonard would be changed indeed if this were so,’ said Ethel, trembling as she stood, and hardly able to speak articulately.
Aubrey broke out with a furious ‘If,’ very different from Henry Ward’s.
‘It would not be the Leonard we knew at Coombe,’ said Ethel. ‘He might be blind with rage, but he would never be cowardly. No. Unless he own it, nothing shall ever make me believe it.’
‘Own it! For shame, Ethel,’ cried Aubrey. And even the Doctor exclaimed, ‘You are as bad as poor Henry himself, who has not got soul enough to be capable of trusting his brother.’
