No more was said, and the two entered the room together.
"Bob wants to speak to you, Mr. Medhurst," she said, by way of explanation, and then moved to the window, leaving the boy facing his father. She caught the quick look of surprise deepening into a swift survey of the boy's form as if to ascertain if there had been an accident and he was unhurt. Margaret realised the unspoken anxiety, although it was but momentary. The man was evidently not indifferent to his son's welfare. That cursory glance gave her hope, but even she was scarcely prepared for the sudden change of aspect which now swept over him, his countenance visibly darkening as he said:
"What do you want?" and the icy coldness was enough to estrange any young heart anxious to unburden itself.
A shiver ran down the boy's back as he heard it, for a moment his courage failed, and he stood staring at the stern face in front of him, his own white with the tensity of the moment. Then he pulled himself together, "Endure hardness as a good soldier"—the words rushed to his brain. He raised his head a little more as if to cast away fear with disdain, then, taking out of his pocket the Headmaster's note, he handed it to his father.
"Dr. Armstrong sent me home—and told me to give you that," he said, in a low but clear voice.
Something of a sneer lurked on his father's lips as he took it, then, as he read the contents, his brow contracted with a heavy frown. Fear, deadly fear, came to Margaret as she heard his voice, of, it seemed, concentrated wrath as, with a wave of his hand, he said:
"Get out of the room—go upstairs! I'll come to you."
The boy turned white and hopeless, but Margaret, with real terror in her heart, sprang forward:
"Mr. Medhurst, please—please excuse me speaking in Bob's behalf, but I am sure, if you knew all the circumstances in this trouble, you would find it in your heart to forgive him," she pleaded.
Mr. Medhurst was too much of a gentleman not to be courteous to a woman, though he could scarcely brook interference.