In his little chair, which he could propel himself, he would haunt the Cedars, and the walks which had been favorite resorts of Leicester, and there weep over the memory of his great friend and hero.
One evening, the lad set off in his quiet, sad way for a walk, or, rather, ride on the cliff.
Impelled by an awful curiosity, the boy drove close to the edge of the cliff, and looked down.
He drew back, with a sob of grief and was about to return, but, as he made the movement, his tear-dimmed eyes caught the glimmer of some object lying under the edge of the cliff, half hidden by the overhanging tufts of grass.
With a mechanical curiosity, he drew near to it, and saw, with a beating heart, that it was a knife.
Instantly it flashed upon him that it was the very knife with which Leicester had, in self-defense, slain Jem Starling.
With the knife hidden in his bosom he returned home, determined to destroy the weapon, with its telltale rust of blood, on the first opportunity.
Of course, the doctor was not at all satisfied with the outward calm and serenity with which Violet bore her grief.
"It is all very well," he said to Mr. Thaxton, as he and that gentleman were smoking a cigar on the lawn and conferring together as to the state of Violet's health, "it is all very well to say that she is resigned, but I must confess that I do not like the word when it is applied to the numbed stillness of a young girl. Could you not get up a little difficulty of some sort? Anything would answer the purpose to divert her mind from this terrible subject."
"Hem!" said Mr. Thaxton. "I have always avoided business, though, as you are aware, I was summoned to go into some matter. Every day I offer to touch upon the subject with Mrs. Mildmay she entreats me to wait a little and to remain."