"It will depend on circumstances," said John, quietly; "and if my having the twenty pounds I want to-day, or not having it, were to make all the difference between my going to India or staying in England, I should take the money and stay."
"There's nothing more to be said, then," remarked Mr. Roundhand, "except that a wilful will, will have its way, and that I don't understand you—"
"I doubt whether I understand myself," sighed John, inwardly.
"But the money is yours to do what you like with, Mr. Tincroft;" and saying this, the lawyer opened his chequebook, and filled up a cheque. "You know where to cash it," he added as he placed it in John's hand.
Yes, John knew where to cash it. Ten minutes afterwards, he was at the counter of the Oxford Old Bank, exchanging it for a crisp ten-pound Bank of England note, and the rest in gold.
The bank-note did not remain long in John Tincroft's possession. Hastening back to his room, it was securely enclosed and sealed up with black wax, in a sheet of Bath post, on which were scribbled these lines:
"MY DEAR SIR—Many thanks for your confidence in me, and for having brought the distressing case to my knowledge. Please apply the enclosed as you best think fit, immediately; and do not be surprised should I follow in the course of a few days."
Having post-paid and posted this packet, John returned to his rooms, shut himself in, and was seen no more that day. The next two days, he mechanically went the daily round of his early chapel and subsequent studies; but he was missed in the dining-hall. When Tom Grigson went on the second evening to see what ailed his friend, he found, to his surprise, that the outer door of John's room was fast shut.
"Sported the oak, has he?" said Tom to himself. "Never knew him to do that before. What is the matter now, I wonder?"
