Then the long, weary time of his stay came up, and in succession the series of injuries and petty annoyances to which he had been subjected by his cousin passed before him, strengthening his determination.
But in spite of all these, he would have fought down the desire so strong upon him if it had not been for the past evening’s scene. Even as he lay in bed his face flushed, and he quivered with shame and indignation. For here it all was vividly before his mind’s eye. What had he done to deserve it? Nothing. He had spoken the truth, and declined to take his cousin’s lapse upon his own shoulders about that letter; and then on getting home Sam had turned upon him, and any boy, Tom argued, would have done as he did, and struck back. He’d have been a mean-spirited coward if he had not.
“No, I can’t stand it,” he muttered, with his head beneath the clothes. “He was going to beat me in spite of all I said, and it was too horrible. I wouldn’t have minded so much if I had been in the wrong, but even then it was too cruel before aunt—before the servants, and with Sam lying there shamming to be so bad, and watching all the time in his delight. No, I won’t alter my mind in the morning. Poor father used to say, ‘Sleep on it, my lad;’ but I can’t sleep on this. I must go now before things get worse.”
He threw the clothes from his face and lay listening, to try and make out whether his cousin was awake. He was not, for a heavy stuffy breathing could be heard, consequent upon Sam’s mouth being open, a peculiar puffy swelling about the nose preventing him from breathing in the usual way.
This brought a gleam of mental sunshine into Tom’s sad and blackened horizon. Naturally a bright, merry lad, for months past he had not had a hearty laugh; but now, as he recalled his cousin’s appearance, the smile broadened, and for a few moments he shook with suppressed laughter.
But the mirth passed away directly, for the matter was too serious, and he now lay with knitted brows, listening to his cousin’s breathing, and continuing his plans.
He would wait another hour, and then begin.
He waited for some time listening till the last sound had died out in the house, thinking that he must move about very silently, for his uncle’s room was beneath, and the servants were only separated from them by a not too thick wall.
“Poor cook! poor Mary!” he thought. “I should like to kiss them and say good-bye. How brave cook was; and she is sure to lose her place for taking my part. Aunt and uncle will never forgive her. How I wish I had a home of my own and her for housekeeper. But perhaps I shall never have one now, for what am I going to do when I go?”
That was the great puzzle as he lay there gazing at the window-blind, faintly illumined by the gas-lamps in the Crescent. What was he to do? Soldier?—No; he was too young, and wanting in manly aspect. Sailor?—No. He would like to go to sea, and have adventures; but no, if his father and mother had lived it would have given them pain to know that he had run away to enlist, or get on board some coasting vessel.