“The hypocrite—the cowardly hypocrite!” he said to himself; “but we know now, and he shall be punished.”
The boy’s anger was fast growing so ungovernable that he was about to fly out and denounce his school-fellow’s father, but just then a hasty step was heard outside, and a familiar voice exclaimed:
“Where is my husband?”
The next minute Mrs Winthorpe was in the room, wild-eyed and pale, but perfectly collected in her manner and acts.
“How long will it be before the doctor can get here?” she said hoarsely, as she passed her arm under the injured man’s neck, and pressed her lips to his white brow.
“Hickathrift’s lad went off at a hard gallop,” said Farmer Tallington in a voice full of sympathy. “Please God, Mrs Winthorpe, we’ll save him yet.”
Dick uttered a hoarse cry and staggered out of the room, for the man’s hypocrisy maddened him, and he knew that if he stayed he should speak out and say all he knew.
As he reached the little garden there was a step behind him, a hand was laid upon his shoulder, another grasped his arm.
“I can’t talk and say things, Dicky,” said Tom in a low half-choking voice; “but I want to comfort you. Don’t break down, old fellow. The doctor will save his life.”
This from the son of the man whom he believed to have shot his father! and the rage Dick felt against the one seemed to be ready to fall upon the other. But as his eyes met those of his old school-fellow and companion full of sorrowful sympathy, Dick could only grasp Tom’s hands, feeling that he was a true friend, and in no wise answerable for his father’s sins.