“How dare you, sir?” cried the tutor, irritable from a sleepless night. “I tell you the news is better, and we have hopes.”
“And I tell you, sir, that the news is worse.”
Mr Draycott stared at his man, and began to frown. Strange suspicions attacked him as he saw that Jerry looked rough and unkempt. His hair was not brushed; he had evidently not washed that morning, and his Oxford mixture coat was marked by flour.
“By the way, sir,” said the tutor, angrily, “where have you been? I rang twice, to send you to the doctor’s, but the bell was not answered. Were you not up?”
“Not up, sir? Oh, yes; I was up and out long enough ago!”
“Out?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jerry, speaking very sturdily and solemnly; and he related all that he had seen, with the result that the tutor sank into the nearest chair, looking ghastly, and with his lips moving, but not uttering a sound.
Jerry stood looking down at him sadly, and at the end of a few minutes he filled a glass from a waterbottle and handed the water to his master, who swallowed it hurriedly.
“This is too dreadful,” said the latter, huskily; “too dreadful! But are you sure, my man—are you sure?”
“Yes, sir, sure enough!” replied Jerry, with a hoarse sob. “The miller saw him just before.”