Egerton’s hand trembled as it pressed his friend’s, and without a word, he hurried away abruptly. Harley remained motionless for some seconds, in deep and quiet revery; then he called to his dog, and turned back towards Westminster.
He passed the nook in which had sat the still figure of Despondency; but the figure had now risen, and was leaning against the balustrade. The dog, who preceded his master, passed by the solitary form and sniffed it suspiciously.
“Nero, sir, come here,” said Harley.
“Nero,”—that was the name by which Helen had said that her father’s friend had called his dog; and the sound startled Leonard as he leaned, sick at heart, against the stone. He lifted his head and looked wistfully, eagerly into Harley’s face. Those eyes, bright, clear, yet so strangely deep and absent, which Helen had described, met his own, and chained them. For L’Estrange halted also; the boy’s countenance was not unfamiliar to him. He returned the inquiring look fixed on his own, and recognized the student by the bookstall.
“The dog is quite harmless, sir,” said L’Estrange, with a smile.
“And you call him ‘Nero’?” said Leonard, still gazing on the stranger.
Harley mistook the drift of the question.
“Nero, sir; but he is free from the sanguinary propensities of his Roman namesake.” Harley was about to pass on, when Leonard said falteringly,
“Pardon me, but can it be possible that you are one whom I have sought in vain on behalf of the child of Captain Digby?”
Harley stopped short. “Digby!” he exclaimed, “where is he? He should have found me easily. I gave him an address.”