“The poor child must have been sitting up to watch for Lindon’s return.”
“And he has not returned, Josiah,” sobbed Mrs Lavington.
“Here, stop! What are you going to do?”
“I am going up to his room to see,” said the sobbing woman.
Uncle Josiah made no opposition, for he read the mother’s thought, and followed her upstairs, where a half-open drawer told tales, and in a few moments Mrs Lavington had satisfied herself.
“I cannot say exactly,” she said piteously; “but he has made up a bundle of his things.”
“The coward!” cried Uncle Josiah fiercely.
“Gone! Gone! My poor boy!”
“Hush!” cried the old man sternly. “He has sneaked off like a contemptible cur. No, I will not believe it of him,” he added impetuously. “Lindon has too much stuff in him to play such a despicable part. You are wrong, Laura. Come down and finish breakfast. I will not believe it of the boy.”
“But he has gone, Josiah, he has gone,” sobbed his sister.