The Vicar noticed it, and spoke to the doctor when he came to see his patient.
“Oh, yes,” said the doctor; “I saw it at once. Shock, my dear sir—shock! The poor boy has a deal to bear, but a young, elastic, healthy chap like that will soon come round.”
Josh mentioned it, too, in confidence to his father, saying—
“I don’t like poor Will’s looks. He’s so white and strange.”
But, on hearing the doctor’s words, he said—
“Well, he ought to know. We must wait.”
He had not long to wait. A few days later, Will was himself again, for the burden was off his mind. He had rested till he thought that his father was well enough to hear what he had to say, and then, alone by his bedside, he repeated almost word for word the confession Drinkwater had made.
Mr Willows listened silently right to the end, and then, after a long silence, he lay holding his son’s hand clasped between his own.
“Horrible, indeed, my boy,” he said, gently.
“Yes, horrible, indeed, father. What shall you do?”