“He’s dead—I can tell you that!”
It never occurred to him to wonder whence Jonah had derived his information, or whether it was true or false.
Mr Brampton’s letter five months ago had left little hope of the boy’s recovery, but not till now had Jeffreys heard any one say, in so many words “He is dead.” Jonah apparently knew the whole story. How he had discovered it, it was useless to guess. And yet for a moment Jeffreys was tempted to return and seize his accuser by the throat and demand the truth of him. But he dismissed the notion with a shudder.
His steps turned, half mechanically, half by chance, towards his guardian’s house. He had never been in that quarter of York since the night of his expulsion, and he did not know why of all places he should just now turn thither. His guardian, as he well knew, was even more pitiless and cynical than ever, and any hope of finding shelter or rest under his roof he knew to be absurd. He might, however, be out; indeed, he had spoken of going to America, in which case Mrs Jessop might be there alone.
One clings to the idea of a home; and this place, such as it was, was the only place which for Jeffreys had ever had any pretensions to the blessed name. His expectations—if he had any—vanished as he abruptly turned the corner of the street and stood in front of the house. The shutters on the lower floor were closed, and the windows above were curtainless and begrimed with dust. A notice “To let,” stared out from a board beside the front door, and the once cosy little front garden was weed-grown and run to seed.
Jeffreys felt a stronger man as he walked out of York in the deepening twilight. He was in the way of old associations just now, for almost without knowing it he found himself quitting York by way of Ash Lane, every step of which by this time was familiar—painfully familiar ground. The bank on which he had last found Jonah’s knife had now new attractions for him. Not so a garden shed, by the back of which he passed, and whence proceeded the glimmer of a light, and the sound of boys’ voices.
He could not help standing a moment, and motioning Julius close to his heels, listening.
“It’s broken worse than ever now,” said Freddy. “It’s no use trying to mend it.”
“Jeff could have done it. I say, Freddy, whatever did father mean?”
“I don’t know. All I know is I’ll never forget dear old Jeff; shall you?”