Charlie Henderson, in the solitary dormitory, lay quiet and undisturbed, until, having nearly slept off his headache, he woke with the delightful sense of relief and peace which comes after the cessation of severe pain. He lay still, however, feeling languid, and waiting till some one should come whom he could ask for the cup of strong coffee which was always needed to perfect his cure, and thinking happily of home and the pleasure he anticipated in the holidays just at hand.
At last Mrs. Moffat put her head into the room. "Ah, Master Henderson, my dear," she said, at once appreciating the change in the situation, "so you're better. That's a dear boy"—as though it were highly meritorious in Charlie to have allowed himself to feel better. "Well, now, you must have your cup of coffee to tone you up for your trip. You lie still, while I see about it. There's lots of time yet, and I'm not going to send you home faint and miserable to your mother, and have her say there's nobody at Sylvandale Academy to look after her head-ache-y boy."
And she was gone, while Charlie, nothing loth, obeyed orders and lay almost motionless.
Suddenly quick footsteps came along the hall, and the door of the room, which Mrs. Moffat had left ajar, was pushed open and a boy entered—one of the older boys—and Charlie knew that his presence here would be questioned, and that he must hasten to explain.
Who was it? There were boys and boys belonging to that dormitory, and Charlie felt that he would rather be found there by some than by others. It was for this reason that he had chosen the bed of the good-natured, easy-going Percy to rest upon; he would "raise no fuss," or make him feel himself an intruder.
It was Lewis Flagg. Certainly he was not the one by whom Charlie would choose to be faced, and seeing that he was not perceived, he hesitated whether he should speak and reveal his presence, or pretend to be still asleep and trust to silence and good fortune to remain undiscovered.
But before he had quite made up his mind which course to pursue the matter was decided for him, and he found that he had no need to betray himself.
Lewis was upon business which necessitated haste and secrecy; and knowing that all the other legitimate occupants of the dormitory were below stairs, he never gave a thought to the possibility that there might be some one else there, and believed himself quite alone. His hurried movements were very mysterious to the young spectator.
Lewis went to the alcove occupied by Seabrooke, where his trunk, like that of the other boys, stood packed and closed, but not locked or strapped lest there should be "some last things to put in." He stooped over the trunk, lifted the lid, and taking something from his pocket, thrust it down beneath the contents, hastily closed it again, and darted from the room. The whole performance took but a moment, but there was an unmistakable air of guilt and terror about Lewis which did not fail to make itself apparent even to the inexperienced eye of Charlie.
[Illustration: AN UNSUSPECTING WITNESS]