"Perhaps," said Ronald—he had a marvelous way of comprehending the situation—"but for you he would not have been a V. C. man."
"God bless you! It was in himself—he had the noblest heart, the grandest nature! There, boy! don't upset me. 'Pon my word! I hated the thought of having you—— And I hated going to you," said Ronald; "but——"
The old face looked into the young face, and the young face looked into the old face, and then they both laughed.
Before they reached the old gentleman's hotel Ronald had so far advanced to a friendly footing that he had peered into the contents of the old man's pocket, had pulled out his watch, had applied it to his ear, and had even gone the amazing length of demanding one for himself.
CHAPTER XXVI.
TWO CUPS OF COFFEE.
When Harris parted from Giles and Connie—on the very same day that Connie had gone to tea with Ronald, on the very same day that Ronald had visited Giles—he was as troubled and miserable as man could be. There was but one brave thing for him to do—he ought to confess his sin.
Where Sue could be he had not the faintest idea. Why was she absent? It was days now since she had left her home—Sue, of all people—Sue, with a little delicate brother like Giles. It was unlike her to go. There could be but one reason. Harris had taken means to ascertain whether poor Sue had been up before the magistrates. He knew enough about the law, and about crime generally, to know that she would be taken up for theft to Bow Street; but beyond doubt she had never gone there. Where in all the world could she be? Harris was by no means sufficiently sorry to give himself up for conscience's sake; but he was in a state of nervousness and great distress of mind.