“Locked up safe in the inner store-room; the master intends sending him to gaol early to-morrow morning.”
“He will not,” said Gahan slowly, “kill the boy that saved his life!—no, no.”
“Poor fellow! the grief is setting his mind astray—and sure no wonder!” said the cook, compassionately.
“I’m not astray!” cried the old man, fiercely.
“Where’s the master?—take me to him.”
“Come with me,” said the butler, “and I’ll ask him will he see you?”
With faltering steps the father complied; and when they reached the parlor, he trembled exceedingly, and leant against the wall for support, while the butler opened the door, and said:
“Gahan is here, Sir, and wants to know will you let him speak to you for a minute?”
“Tell him to come in,” said Mr. Hewson, in a solemn tone of sorrow, very different from his ordinary cheerful voice.
“Sir,” said the steward, advancing, “they tell me you are going to send my boy to prison,—is it true?”