"But—but, Hindford——"
"Come, now, you take my advice. Keep a quiet tongue in your head."
"But perhaps it was her fault; it was—if we'd given the poor chap something he'd——"
"Probably. That's just the reason I don't want you to tell Mrs. Errington anything of it. Come, promise me on your honour."
"All right, Hindford, I'll promise. How horrible it's all been!"
"Don't think about it, lad. Good-night."
Horace trembled as he stole up the black staircase to bed. He meant to keep his promise, of course, but he wondered whether the Mater would have owned that she was in the wrong that morning if she had heard his dreary tale of the beggar's death in the night.
The next day it was Mrs. Errington who asked Horace to go out walking. She looked rather pale and fatigued at breakfast, but declared her intention of taking a constitutional.
"Come with me, Horace," she said.
"Very well," he answered, with a curious and almost shy boyish coldness.