With dragging feet Spike led the way into the sitting room, where lay his breakfast, scarcely tasted.
"Sit down, Geoff, I—I want to apologise," said the lad, toying nervously with his teaspoon. "I guess you think I'm a mean, low-down sort o' guy, an' you're right, only I—I feel worse 'n you think. An' say, Geoff, if I—if I said anything th' other night, I want you to—forget it, will you?"
"Why, of course, Spike."
"Hermy's forgiven me. I—I've promised to work hard an' do what she wants."
"I'm glad of that, Spike!"
"She came creepin' into my room this mornin' before she went, but—me thinkin' she meant to give me a last call down—I pretended t' be asleep, so she just sighed an' went creepin' out again an' wrote me this," and Spike drew a sheet of crumpled note paper from his pocket and handed it to Ravenslee, who read these words:
Boy dear, I love you so much that if you destroyed my love, I think you would destroy me too. Now I must leave you to go to my work, but you will go to yours, won't you—for my sake and for your sake and because I love you so. Be good and strong and clean, and if you want some one to help you, go to your friend, Mr. Geoffrey. Good-by, dear—and remember your promise.
Ravenslee passed back the pencilled scrawl and Spike, bending his head low, read it through again.
"I guess I've just got t' be good," he murmured, "for her sake. Oh, Geoff," he cried suddenly, "I'd die for her!"
"Better live for her, Spike, and be the honourable, clean man she wishes."