“Of course not. The man is a pauper, or about the same as one. Every day I expect he will come to me to ask pecuniary assistance.”
“Will you give him any money if he does?”
“Yes; enough to get him back to Illinois. He ought never to have left there.”
Philip went to bed in a state of wonderment, but at the same time in a state of satisfaction. Suspicion had been diverted from him, the real culprit, and the boy whom he hated more than any other was likely to suffer for his misdeeds.
If he had had a conscience, this thought ought to have made him uncomfortable, but it did not. He thought, rather, that under cover of this charge made against another, he and Congreve would be free to use the proceeds of the stolen bonds, and he began even to plan in what way he would spend his portion.
Meanwhile, a very different scene took place in the cottage of the Gilberts, after the Colonel had taken his leave.
“I hope, Mr. Rogers,” said Mrs. Gilbert to the constable, “you don’t believe my boy guilty of this base deed which the colonel charges upon him?”
“I’ve always thought highly of Harry, ma’am,” said the constable, “and I can’t think now he’d take anything that wasn’t his; but it is rather strange that them bonds should be found in this house now, ain’t it?”
“No, indeed. Is the Colonel the only man in town that owns bonds?”
“I expect not; though, so far as my own experience goes, I know I ain’t got any. I always thought—begging your pardon, Mrs. Gilbert—that you was poor, and now what am I to think?”