The Judge went thoughtfully up to Dallas’s bedroom.
The boy was half dressed, and when his friend and protector came into the room he sank on the bed in an attitude of the deepest dejection.
From the depths of his good, kind heart the man was glad to see that the boy was desperately ashamed of himself.
“Dallas,” he said, kindly, “what have you to say for yourself?”
“Nothing, sir, nothing,” said the lad, turning his face away.
“You have deceived me,” said the Judge, softly.
“Yes, I have deceived you,” said the boy, in a dull voice.
“You feel badly about it?”
“I don’t know,” said Dallas, wearily. “I suppose I do. I am so tired, sir. I have heard my father speak of hunting in England. The fox turns and twists; he does not know where to go.”
The boy’s attitude was so listless, his manner so utterly dejected, that the Judge’s heart was touched with pity. No frantic protestations of regret, no tears would have appealed to him as did this simple hopelessness. The boy was done with stratagems.