“Please, sir,” he began.
“Silence!” cried Sir James. “I think Dr Grayson understands your character now, and I must say I never heard a more cowardly attempt to fasten a fault upon another. No: not a word. Go!”
Bob Dimsted was already outside with Dan’l’s knuckles in the back of his neck.
Peter was more gentle with his prisoner as he led him away.
“You’ve been and done it now, young fellow,” he said. “I would ha’ told the truth.”
Dexter turned to him with bursting heart, but he could not speak, and as soon as he was in his bedroom he threw himself before a chair, and buried his face in his hands, so as to try and shut out the reproachful face of Helen, which he seemed to see.
“I wish I had not been saved,” he cried at last passionately, and then he glanced at the window, and listened, while downstairs Sir James was saying quietly—
“There, Grayson, I think you understand the boy’s character now.”
“No,” said the doctor shortly. “I don’t think I do.”
“What!”