“I have been very fond of him all along,” said Walter; “he is so full of laughter and fun, and he’s very good with it all. But, Dubbs, you are too desponding; we shall have you here yet for many pleasant days.”
“I don’t know; perhaps so, if God wills. I am very young. I should like to stay a little longer in the sunshine. Walter, I should like to stay with you. I love you more, I think, than any one except Power,” and as he spoke, a quiet tear rolled slowly down Daubeny’s face.
Walter only pressed his hand. “You can’t think how I pitied you, Walter, in that accident about Paton’s manuscript. When all the fellows were cutting you, and abusing you, my heart used to bleed for you; you used to go about looking so miserable, so much as if all your chances of life were over. I’m afraid I did very little for you then, but I would have done anything. I felt as if I could have given you my right-hand.”
“But, Dubbs, you were the first who spoke to me after that happened, the first who wasn’t ashamed to walk with me. You can’t think how grateful I felt to you for it; it rolled a cold weight from me. It was like stretching a saving hand to one who was drowning; for every one knew how good a fellow you were, and your countenance was worth everything to me just then.”
“You really felt so?” said Daubeny, brightening up, while a faint flush rested for a moment on his pale face; “O Walter, it makes me happy to hear you say so.” There was a silence, and, with Walter’s hand still in his, he fell into a sweet sleep, with a smile upon his face. When he was quite asleep, Walter gently removed his hand, smoothed his pillow, looked affectionately at him for a moment, and stole silently from the room.
“How did you leave him?” asked Henderson eagerly, when Walter rejoined him in Mr Percival’s room.
“Sleeping soundly. I hope it will do him good. I did not know how much you cared for him, Flip.”
“That’s because I always made him a butt,” said Henderson, remorsefully; “but I didn’t really think he minded it, or I wouldn’t have done so. I hardly knew myself that I liked him so. It was a confounded shame of me to worry him as I was always doing. Conceited donkey that I was, I was always trying to make him seem stupid; yet all the while I could have stood by him cap in hand. O Walter, I hope he is not going to die!”
“O no, I hope not; and don’t be miserable at the thought of teasing him, Flip; it was all in fun, and he was never wounded by any word of yours. Remember how he used to tell you that he was all the time laughing at you, not you at him. Come a turn on the shore, and let’s take Power or Ken with us.”
“Sociable grosbeaks, again,” said Henderson, laughing in the midst of his sorrow.