'I am—am thankful,' said Leonard, struggling to make the words truth. 'Wednesday is off my mind—yes, it is more than I deserve—I knew I was not fit to die, and those at home are spared. But I am as much cut off from them—perhaps more—than by death. And it is the same disgrace to them, the same exile. I suppose Henry still goes—'
'Yes, he does.'
'Ah! then one thing, Dr. May—if you had a knife or scissors—I do not know how soon they may cut my hair, and I want to secure a bit for poor Ave.'
Dr. May was too handless to have implements of the first order, but a knife he had, and was rather dismayed at Leonard's reckless hacking at his bright shining wavy hair, pulling out more than he cut, with perfect indifference to the pain. The Doctor stroked the chestnut head as tenderly as if it had been Gertrude's sunny curls, but Leonard started aside, and dashing away the tears that were overflowing his eyes under the influence of the gentle action, asked vigorously, 'Have you heard what they will do with me?'
'I do not know thoroughly. A year or six months maybe at one of the great model establishments, then probably you will be sent to some of the public works,' said the Doctor, sadly. 'Yes, it is a small boon to give you life, and take away all that makes life happy.'
'If it were only transportation!'
'Yes. In a new world you could live it down, and begin afresh. And even here, Leonard, I look to finding you like Joseph in his prison.'
'The iron entering into his soul!' said Leonard, with a mournful smile.
'No; in the trustworthiness that made him honoured and blessed even there. Leonard, Leonard, conduct will tell. Even there, you can live this down, and will!'
'Eighteen to-morrow,' replied the boy. 'Fifty years of it, perhaps! I know God can help me through with it, but it is a long time to be patient!'