"Good heavens!" said he to himself. "It must be—yet surely it can't be Lawrence!"
The footman rode on as fast as the people would let him. The boy's hat was slouched, and his head hung down, so that nobody could see his face.
At this instant there was a disturbance in the crowd. A man who was half drunk pushed his way forwards, swearing that nobody should stop him; that he had a right to see, and he "would" see. And so he did; for forcing through all resistance, he staggered up to the footman just as he was lifting down the boy he had carried before him.
"I 'will'—I tell you I 'will' see the thief!" cried the drunken man, pushing up the boy's hat.
It was his own son.
"Lawrence!" exclaimed the wretched father. The shock sobered him at once, and he hid his face in his hands.
There was an awful silence. Lawrence fell on his knees, and, in a voice that could scarcely be heard, made a full confession of all the circumstances of his guilt.
"Such a young creature so wicked! What could put such wickedness into your head?"
"Bad company," said Lawrence.
"And how came you—what brought you into bad company?"