“No, I never thought him guilty. But if I could prove him innocent it would make a great difference to me—and to one or two others. The fact is I find myself in a rather embarrassing position. But you don’t understand, and I can’t ex——”
“Yes Hi do, though. Hit’s about that dog Gardiner. ’E’s worse’n Riles.”
“Wilfred!”
“Hi mean it, han’ Hi can’t prove it hit, either.”
“But you must be wrong in this case. Mr. Gardiner has been a good friend, but that is all. That is the trouble. Why can’t a good friend remain a friend instead of spoiling it by wanting to be—something more?”
The boy flushed, but it was with the pride of victory. “Hit’s gettin’ light,” he said. “Hi must be goin’ now. Hif Hi see ’im, is there hany message; hanything more than you ’ave said?”
She thought for a moment. “Only this,” she said, reaching for the little book of poems. It opened at a well-thumbed spot and she tore a leaf from the binding. She folded it twice and pressed it into his palm. “Give him that,” she said.
He took her hand. “Good-bye, Miss Vane,” he said.
She pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Good-bye. God bless you.”
And he walked sturdily away, carrying unspoken the secret tragedy of his young life.