The lad looked up, but apparently saw little such assurance in the thin pale cheeks, and feeble, recumbent form; for his face twitched all over, resumed the same sullen stolidity, and was bent down again.
'Come near, Tom,' continued Louis, with unabated kindness—'come and sit down here. I am afraid you have suffered a great deal,' as the boy shambled with an awkward footsore gait. 'It was a great pity you ran away.'
'I couldn't stay!' burst out Tom, half crying.
'Why not?'
'Not to have that there cast in my teeth!' he exclaimed, with blunt incivility.
'Did any one reproach you?' said Louis, anxiously. 'I thought no one knew it but ourselves.'
'You knew it, then, my Lord?' asked Tom, staring.
'I found out directly that there was no cement,' said Louis. 'I had suspected it before, and intended to examine whenever I had time.'
'Well! I thought, when I came back, no one did seem to guess as 'twas all along of me!' cried Tom. 'So sure I thought you hadn't known it, my Lord. And you never said nothing, my Lord!'
'I trust not. I would not consciously have accused you of what was quite as much my fault as yours. That would not have been fair play.'