"I can't help it; but I shan't worry so much when what is on my mind is off it."
"Shall I send for Mr. Weevil?"
"No, no," answered the boy quickly; "it's you I want to speak to. Don't leave me."
Paul did not move. He kept his place beside the bed, though he had no wish to hear any confession. He guessed what it was. Some boyish freak or escapade, magnified into undue proportion by the sensitive boy now that he was so weak.
"I won't leave you, but if you've got anything to say, I'm not the fellow to say it to. There's One can do you a great deal more good than I can, Hibbert. Just confess to Him when you say your prayers to-night. He'll help you a lot more than I can."
"Supposing I have done that, Percival. Supposing I did it when I closed my eyes a little while ago; and supposing even then a voice seemed whispering in my ear, 'If you want peace, if you want to meet your mother in heaven, act the hypocrite no longer. Speak to Percival.' What then?"
"Then I should say use your own judgment. Do what seems best."
Hibbert closed his eyes for a moment, as though he were trying to decide within himself what was best. At length he opened them again.
"Do you remember that afternoon when I came to you in the writing-room and told you Mr. Travers wished to speak to you?"
"Quite well. Nearly all the fellows had deserted me but you. I was wretched."