“I wish I had not talked as I did about his father and mother. Poor old fellow; how he was upset!”
Chapter Nineteen.
It was not Fancy.
Andrew Forbes would have felt more compunction had he seen Frank when he was alone; for the lad hurried to his room, where he stood trembling with agitation and thinking of what he should do.
His first thought was to go to his mother; but he knew that he could not see her at that hour, and even if it had been possible, he shrank from telling her, partly from dread of the state of agitation in which his news would plunge her, partly from the thought that he might have been mistaken—that fancy had had a great deal to do with it.
“But I’ll put that to the test as soon as it’s dark, if I can get away unseen,” he said to himself; and then he walked up and down his room, wondering whether Andrew had seen anything—coming to the conclusion at last that if he had he would have spoken out at once.
Then came another vein of thought to trouble him, and he was mentally tossed about as to whether he ought not to have confided in his companion. Then again he tortured himself as to whether he ought not to go at once to Captain Murray and confide in him. Question after question arose till his head felt dizzy, and he was so confused that he was afraid to go and join his companion at the evening meal.
But at last his common sense told him that all this worry of thought was due to the cowardly desire to get help, when, under the circumstances, he knew that he ought to have sufficient manliness to act and prove whether what he had seen was fancy or the reality.