That afternoon they reached Mornington Crescent, to find straw laid thickly down in front of the house, and a strange feeling of depression came over Tom as they entered the silent room, to be received by his aunt, who looked white and anxious.
“I am so glad you have come, Richard,” she said eagerly. “James has been asking for you and Tom so many times.”
Just then a bell rang.
“That’s his bell to know if it is you,” said Aunt Fanny; and she hurried up-stairs, to return in a few minutes.
“Come up at once,” she said; “you first, Richard;” and she led the way up-stairs, leaving Tom seated in the drawing-room, looking about at the familiar objects, and growing more and more low-spirited, as they recalled many an unhappy hour, and his troubles at the office, and with his cousin Sam.
But he was not left there long. In a few minutes the door re-opened, and his aunt and uncle came in.
“You are to go up, Tom,” said Uncle Richard. “There is something to be communicated to you.”
“Is—is he so very ill, uncle?” said Tom, with a curious sensation of shrinking troubling him.
“He is very ill, my boy. But don’t keep him waiting.”
“Is he in his own room, aunt?” asked Tom.