There were some pebbles he had picked up during a memorable trip to Margate with Dick, a year before I saw him; which pebbles he firmly believed were real “aggits,” and had promised to have them polished soon, and made into brooch and earrings for Mrs. Wilson.
There was a very old-fashioned photograph of myself that I had torn in half, and thrown into the waste-paper basket. I saw this had been carefully joined together and enclosed in a cheap frame—the only one that could boast of being so preserved. I suppose Joe could only afford one frame, and his sense of the fitness of things made him choose the Missis's picture to be first honored.
How sad I felt looking round the room! People may smile at my feeling so sad and concerned about a servant, a common, lowborn page-boy. Ay, smile on, if you will, but tell me, my friend, can you say, if you were in Joe's position at that time, with circumstantial evidence so strong against you, poor and lowly as he was, are there four or five, or even two or three of your friends who would believe in you, stand up for you, and trust in you, in spite of all, as we did for Joe?
I had gone up to my sitting-room, after telling Mary to light the fire in poor Joe's room, and let it look warm and cosey; for I had some sort of presentiment that I should see the poor boy again very soon—how, I knew not, but I have all my life been subject to spiritual influences, and have seldom been mistaken in them.
We were all thinking of going early to rest, for since the robbery none of us had had any real sleep. Suddenly the front door-bell rang timidly, as if the visitor were not quite sure of its being right to pull the handle.
“Perhaps that's Joe,” said my sister.
But I knew Joe would not ring that bell.
We heard Mary open the door, and a man's voice ask if Mr. Aylmer lived there.
“Yes,” said Mary, “but he is abroad; but you can see Mrs. Aylmer.” Then came a low murmuring of voices, and Mary came in, saying:—
“Oh, ma'am, it's Dick, Joe's brother; and he says may he see you?”