Miles drew a long breath, and, turning from the gateway, went scuffing through the sand down the street. It was Francis, not he, whom they suspected, he repeated, but the next moment he told himself that it made no difference; since he was the culprit, he must come forward and take the blame. But when he saw Master Hopkins sitting by the house-door, his heart choked up into his throat, and his step faltered. After all, he would not speak to Master Hopkins yet; his share in the duel would be discovered soon enough.
With a feeling that he wished to propitiate every one, he trudged round the house to fetch an armful of wood, and there, by the pile, Giles was at work with an axe. "Well, Miles?" he said, pausing in his task, and then, as Miles came to his side, whispered him: "Look you, father thinks you were fishing with me all this day, that Ned sent you back to the house to be quit of you, and that you came home with me, but stopped at the spring. I told him naught; he just thought so and—I let him think so."
"Oh, Giles, you are right good," gulped Miles. "For I—"
"Hush now! I don't want to know aught." And Giles went back to his chopping.
No one would find him out, then; he was safe from the mighty beating he expected. Francis—well, since he was innocent, of course he would say so, and they would believe him and not punish him. Anyway, he had no thought of confessing, Miles assured himself hastily, as, on entering the living room, he met Master Hopkins's stern gaze.
The master of the house was in a gloomy temper that evening; a new sense of the gravity of that day's happenings came over Miles, as he looked on his harsh face. Mistress Hopkins, too, was silenced completely, and the young folk did not venture to speak while their elders did not address them, nor had they any wish to talk, with the two empty places at table confronting them. No word was uttered till the meal was nearly eaten, when Mistress Hopkins, after a swift glance at her husband, cut a thick end from the loaf of bread, and, setting it on a trencher, turned to Miles. "Fill a jug of water, and carry that and the bread to Edward Lister," she said sharply.
"Edward Lister may go fasting to-night," Master Hopkins spoke, in a grim voice.
Miles, who had slipped from his stool, stood shifting from one foot to the other, while he waited to see which he should obey.
"Do as I bid you, Miles," Mistress Hopkins repeated steadily, though one hand, which she rested on the edge of the table, clenched in nervous wise. "The man is hurt, and whatever he has done he shall not go hungry and thirsty. Either Miles shall take him food and drink, Stephen, or I shall do so myself." She rose, and, filling a jug from the water-pail, gave it to the dubious Miles. "Take it to him, there in the closet," she bade; so Miles, without waiting for Master Hopkins to prevent, stepped hastily into the little room and shut the door behind him.