‘I’m not going home,’ said the boy, undaunted.
‘You must submit, Maurice. You do not wish to make poor Sophy miserable.’
‘I must go to Malta,’ the boy persisted. ‘Gilbert says it would make him well to see me. I know my way; I saw it in the map, and I’ve a roll, and the end of a cold tongue, and a clean shirt, and my own sovereign, and four shillings, and a half-crown, and a half-penny in my pocket; and I’m going!’
‘But, Maurice, this gentleman will tell you that your whole sovereign would not carry you a quarter of the way to Malta.’
The station-master gave so formidable a description of the impossibilities of the route, that the hardy little fellow’s look of decision relaxed into dejection, his muscles lost their tension, and he struggled hard with his tears.
He followed Ulick to the carriage, and hid his face in a corner, while orders were given to stop at the post-office in case there were fresh letters. There was one for Miss Kendal, in Mr. Ferrars’ writing, and with black borders. Ulick felt too surely what it must be, and hardly could bear to address Maurice, who had shrunk from him with some remains of passion, but hearing suppressed sobs, he put his hand on him and said, ‘My poor little man.’
‘Get away,’ said Maurice, shaking him off. ‘Why did you come and bother?’
‘I came because it would have almost killed your sister and mother for you to be lost. If you had seen Sophy’s face, Maurice!’
‘I don’t care. Now I shall never see Gilbert again, and he did want me so!’ Maurice hid his face, and his frame shook with sobs.
‘Yes,’ said Ulick, ‘every one knew he wanted you; but if it had been possible for you to go, your mamma would have taken you. If your uncle had to take care of her how could you go alone?’