For a few moments Rob remained silent, his face sad and troubled.
“Man! It must be terrible!” at length he said, more to himself than to his father. The Doctor looked closely at the little lad. The eager, sensitive face, usually so radiant, was now clouded and sad.
“What is it, Rob? Is it something you can tell me?” asked his father in a tone of friendly kindness.
Rob moved closer to him. The father waited in silence. He knew better than to force an unwilling confidence. At length the lad, with an obvious effort at self-command, said:
“It is to-morrow, Daddy, that Cameron—that Mr. Cameron is going away.”
“To-morrow? So it is. And you will be very sorry, Rob. But, of course, he will come back.”
“Oh, Dad,” cried Rob, coming quite close to his father, “it isn't that! It isn't that!”
His father waited. He did not understand his boy's trouble, and so he wisely refrained from uttering word that might hinder rather than help. At length, with a sudden effort, Rob asked in a low, hurried voice:
“Do you think, Dad, he has—got—back?”
“Got back?” said his father. “Oh, I see. Why, my boy? What do you know of it? Did you know there was a letter from a man named Potts, that completely clears your friend of all crime?”