THE MESSENGER
For a moment Tom closed his eyes and waited for the words which he expected and feared to hear. His body was trembling and all his strength was required to prevent his teeth from chattering. If Benzeor should enter the room Tom knew that at once his predicament would be discovered, and in the present state of his foster father's feelings he was aware that he could expect no mercy at his hands.
He heard no footstep, but he felt that the light of the candle was still shining upon his face and knew that Benzeor had not departed. At last, unable to bear the suspense longer, he opened his eyes, for he felt that he must see what was going on in the room. There stood Benzeor in the doorway holding the candle with one hand, and intently regarding the apparently sleeping boy before him.
"I'll be down directly," said Tom drowsily, as if he were just awaking. "I didn't know it was time to get up. I'll be with you in a minute."
"It isn't time to get up," replied Benzeor slowly. "I'm just going to bed. I stopped to see if you were all right. Have you been asleep long?"
"I—I don't know. Is there anything wrong?" Tom still kept the bedclothes drawn tightly about his face, and although he was feigning that he had been sleeping, he was in a state of terror. If Benzeor should approach the bed he well knew what would follow.
"No, there's nothing wrong," replied Benzeor. "I just wanted to see if you were all right. It's been a hard trip, and there's much work to be done to-morrow."
Tom closed his eyes and did not continue the conversation, hoping that the man would feel satisfied and leave him to himself. Nor was he disappointed, for Benzeor soon withdrew and closed the door behind him.
Tom could hear him as he stumbled about in the adjoining room, preparing for bed. Frightened as the lad had been, he had not failed to notice the expression upon Benzeor's face. It seemed to him that fear and recklessness were combined there, and that in the recent decision which the man had made, he had bidden farewell to everything good in his nature.
Benzeor had not been without his good qualities. Even then, in spite of his alarm, Tom recalled his rough kindnesses, and thought how much better in many ways his foster father had treated him than had some of the true fathers treated their own sons, for the times were rough and the one thing which was demanded of all the growing boys was implicit obedience to their elders. And this obedience had been ofttimes compelled by no gentle means. The use of the strap upon boys who were as large as their fathers was not unknown, and no one ever thought of resenting the harsh treatment. But Benzeor had seldom struck him. Tom almost wished that he had, for it would make the carrying out of the project he had already formed much easier.