No; the steps were not like his, and they were going away. It was some one who had brought his boots.
Max lay and thought again about the people he had met,—about The Mackhai, and his haughty, distant manner. He did not seem to like his visitor, and yet he was very polite.
“Perhaps he doesn’t like my father,” thought Max sadly. “Perhaps—”
Perhaps it was being more at ease after his determination to master his cowardice:
Perhaps it was from the feeling of relief at the non-appearance of Kenneth:
Perhaps it was from having undergone so much exertion on the previous day:
Perhaps it was from the bed being so warm and comfortable:
Be all this as it may, Max Blande, instead of getting up, dropped off fast asleep.
“Max! I say, Max, do you know what time it is?”
Max started up in bed, and had hard work to collect his thoughts, as his name was called again, and there was a loud knocking at the door.