“I had angered that fool of a boy, I had beaten him. In a fit of sullen revenge, and without calculating either how best to do it, or what the consequences would be, he went to the place where he knew the arsenic was—Mr. Menaida had impressed on him the danger of playing with the poison—and he abstracted it. But he had not the wit or cunning generally present in idiots——”
“He is no idiot,” said Judith.
“No, in fools,” said Coppinger, “to put the poison into the oatmeal secretly when no one was in the kitchen. He asked the cook for the meal and mingled the contents of the paper into it so openly as to disarm suspicion.”
He paused for Judith to speak, but she did not.
He went on: “Then you, in utter guilelessness, prepared my breakfast for me, as instructed by Miss Trevisa. Next morning you did the same, but were either suspicious of evil through missing the paper from your cabinet, or drawer, or wherever you kept it, or else Jamie confessed to you what he had done. Thereupon you rushed to me to save me from taking another portion. I do not know that I would have taken it; I had formed a half-suspicion from the burning sensation in my throat, and from what I saw in the spoon—but there was no doubt in my mind after the first discovery that you were guiltless. I sought the whole matter out, as far as I was able. Jamie is guilty—not you.”
“And,” said Judith, drawing a long breath, “what about Jamie?”
“There are two alternatives,” said Coppinger; “the boy is dangerous. Never again shall he come under my roof.”
“No,” spoke Judith, “no, he must not go to the Glaze again. Let him remain here with me. I will take care of him that he does mischief to no one. He would never have hurt you had not you hurt him. Forgive him, because he was aggravated to it by the unjust and cruel treatment he received.”
“The boy is a mischievous idiot,” said Coppinger; “he must not be allowed to be at large.”
“What, then, are your alternatives?”