"But, Mr. Henry—what a dreadful thing!"
"Oh, boys, it may be a happy thing. God knows what is best for me."
"Why don't you have a doctor?"
"Your friend Mrs. Butter's gone for one now," he answered, with a smile. "And I went into London yesterday morning and saw a great physician. It was the cause of my absence from class."
They remembered the absence quickly enough, and also the row in the quadrangle afterwards, which he had quelled.—Had that disturbance anything to do with this sudden increase of illness? The physician might have said it had.
Going to die! A terrible shadow, as of remorse for unkindness rendered, fell upon them as they stood. They called to mind how they had treated him; how uniformly kind and forgiving and generous he had been to them in spite of it, and of the peace he had contrived to shed.
Leek's conscience began to prick him. "Is your illness caused by the trouble you have had with us boys, Mr. Henry?" he asked, remembering the promise he had given that day in the Strand, and how soon he had forgotten it.
"No, no. It may have helped it on a little: I can't tell."
Dick Loftus's heart was collapsing more than anybody's; it was one of the tenderest breathing. "I wish the time would come over again!" cried the boy, in his flood-tide of repentance. "I've been worse than any of them. I hope you'll never forgive me."
"Not forgive you!" cried Mr. Henry, regarding him tenderly with his luminous eyes. "There's nothing to forgive. It seems that you have always been kind to me. You have let me give you many a private lesson, and take your part in many a dispute. Thank you for it all, Dick."