"'Twas no loss of honourable feeling that made him Falconer's companion!" said I, impulsively.
"Then," cried he, quickly, with eagerness in his voice, "'twas to fight Falconer?"
"I didn't say that."
"Thank God, then, if he had to die, 'twas not as that man's friend, but his antagonist! My poor, brave Tom! My noble boy! Oh, would I had known him better while he lived!"
"He was all that is chivalrous and true, sir."
"I wanted only this assurance. I felt it in my heart. Don't fear my betraying you; I understand how these affairs have to be managed at such times. Alas, if I had but known in time to prevent! Well, well, 'tis too late now. But there is one person I must confide this to—Philip."
"But I haven't told you anything, sir."
"Quite true; and therefore what I shall confide to Philip will not be of your telling. He will be silent, too. We shall make no disclosures. Falconer shall receive his punishment in another manner."
"He shall, sir," said I, with a positiveness which, in his feeling of sorrow, and yet relief, to know that Tom had died as champion of the family honour, escaped his notice. I thereupon took my leave.
As I afterward came to know, he sent Philip an account of the whole lamentable affair, from Ned's reappearance to Tom's death; it was written in a cipher agreed upon between the two, and 'twas carried by Bill Meadows. Mr. Faringfield deemed it better that Philip should know the whole truth from his relation, than learn of Madge's departure, and Tom's fate, from other accounts, which must soon reach his ears in any case.