The Mayor turned his face; the light from a street-lamp shone upon it, as he stood in the lower entrance. Surely there had been tears on that stern face.
"Yes," answered Mr. Farnham, looking into those deep earnest eyes, "I will bid you good-bye."
"Mr. Farnham," said Joseph, "won't you stay a little?"
The Mayor stepped back into the hall, but wavered in his walk, and supported himself by the lad. Joseph could feel that the hands which were laid on his shoulders trembled.
"Are you sick?" questioned the lad, with his forehead up lifted in reverential tenderness.
"Sick—no! I think it is not sickness, but, but"—
"Have I or father done anything to hurt you, sir?"
"Hurt me!—no, no—but Joseph you said once that I had murdered Mr.
Chester, did you believe it?"
Joseph's head drooped forward. His eyes were suffused with sadness, he could not answer.
"Did you think so, Joseph?" repeated the Mayor, in a voice of strange solicitude.