"Is he in pain?" whispered Paul, as he looked down upon the still figure, for Hibbert's face looked strangely old and worn for one so young, and it was as white as the pillow upon which it lay.
"I don't think so, but I've noticed, Master Percival, that he always has that troubled look when he's sleeping, just as though he had something on his mind," answered Mrs. Trounce.
Paul's mind went swiftly back to the last time he was in that room—to the confession Hibbert had begun and left unfinished. Was it that which was troubling him?
"Does he sleep well?"
"Not always like he's sleeping now. Often and often I've heard him calling you in his sleep, as I told you just now. I'm good enough for shaking up his pillow, giving him medicine, and that sort of thing, but I've found out that boys are strange critters to deal with. They want a lot of knowing, Master Percival, but I know 'em, and what Master Hibbert wants sometimes is one of his own school-fellows to talk to. That's better than medicine. Mr. Weevil's very kind to the boy, but he don't understand him."
"Doesn't Mr. Weevil like my seeing Hibbert?"
"Well, he hasn't exactly forbidden it, or I shouldn't have let you in; but he thinks you excited him when you were with him on the night of the accident. But, as I sez, Mr. Weevil don't understand boys when they're ill. When Mr. Colville was in charge it was different. He knew boys he did. I wish he was back again. Since he went away things have all gone wrong."
Paul heartily echoed her wish. Garside was quite different from what it had been when Mr. Colville was there. He had hoped day by day that intelligence would come of his return; but the Head still remained in the south of France, too ill to attend to his duties at the school.
Presently the eyes of Hibbert slowly opened. A glad cry came from his lips when they rested on Paul.
"Percival, is it really you? I thought they were never going to let me see you again. Thanks, Mrs. Trounce; it's very kind of you."