"I have come to speak to you before I go, Middleton," he said, when I was thoroughly awake. "Ralph and I are off by the early train. Will you tell my father that we may not be able to return till to-morrow, if then; and may I count upon you to keep all you saw and heard secret till after our return?"
"Where are you going?"
"To London. We start in twenty minutes. I don't think it is the least use, but Ralph insists on going, and I cannot let him go alone."
"My dear Charles," I said (all my anger had vanished at the sight of his worn face), "I will accompany you."
"Not for worlds!" he replied, hastily. "It would be no good. Indeed, I should not wish it."
But I knew better.
"An old head is often of use," I replied, rapidly getting into my clothes. "You may count on me, Charles. I shall be ready in ten minutes."
Charles made some pretence at annoyance, but I was not to be dissuaded. I knew very well how invaluable the judgment of an elder man of experience could be on critical occasions; and besides, I always make a point of seeing everything I can, on all occasions. In ten minutes I was down in the dining-room, where, beside a spluttering fire, the brothers, both heavily booted and ulstered, were drinking coffee by candle-light. A hastily laid breakfast was on the table, but it had not been touched. The gray morning light was turning the flame of the candles to a rusty yellow, and outside, upon the wide stone sills, the snow lay high against the panes.
Ralph was sitting with bent head by the fire, stick and cap in hand, his heavy boot beating the floor impatiently. He looked up as I came in, but did not speak. The ruddy color in his cheeks was faded, his face was drawn and set. He looked ten years older.
"We ought to be off," he said at last, in a low voice.