"Well, it's this way, you see. My mother was English. She was the only sister of Mr. Weevil. I know he was very fond of her, for I've heard mother say that he was a good brother, and that she was the only one for whom he had a greater love than he had for science. My father first met her when he used to give lessons in German and French—he knows three or four languages—at the school where Mr. Weevil was master before he came here. I think my father was then what they call a refugee. My mother died three years ago; then I went to Heidelberg again, and last of all I came here. You remember the day—at the opening of the term."
Remember the day! Paul was never likely to forget it. He remembered every incident in connection with it—Hibbert coming to him in the grounds, the insult put upon him by Newall, and the other incidents that followed.
"I remember," he said gravely.
The door opened as he spoke, and Mrs. Trounce entered.
"What, sitting up!" she cried, for Hibbert was still sitting, with the arm of Paul gently supporting him.
"Yes; I feel so much stronger and better," he answered brightly.
"I'm glad to hear it, but I think you'd better lie down now. If Mr. Weevil came in now he would have a fit."
Paul thought it highly probable such a catastrophe would happen if the master had any suspicion of what Hibbert had told him. So he gently laid the patient down again.
"You'll come again, Percival?" he pleaded.
And Paul promised.