“And was it thought Forrester would recover?”
“I believe it was thought that if he got special treatment in a hospital his life might be spared.”
This then was all Jeffreys could hear. Jonah Trimble might be right after all. How he abused himself for flying from York as he had done without extracting the truth first! It was too late now. He begged to be taken to see the house where Forrester lived. It was occupied by a new tenant, and all he could do was to pace up and down in front of it, in a lonely vigil, and try to imagine the pale face which only a few months back had gazed wearily from those windows on the active life without, in which he was never more to take a share.
He had not the courage to wait that night in Grangerham, although the minister urged him and Julius, tramps as they were, to do so. He felt stifled in these narrow streets, and longed for the fresh heath, where at least he could be alone.
He accepted, however, the hospitality of his guide for half an hour in order to write a short note to Mr Frampton. He said:—
“I have come here hoping to hear something of Forrester. But I can hear nothing more than what you told me four months ago. He has left here in charge of his old nurse, and has not been heard of since. You will wonder why I have left York. The story of what happened at Bolsover reached the ears of my employer’s son. He accused me of it before all the school, and added that he knew Forrester was dead. I could not stand it, and came away—though I feel now I was foolish not to ascertain first how he had learned what you and I have not yet been able to hear. It is too terrible to believe! and I cannot believe it till I find out for myself. Where I shall go next I do not know, and feel I do not care. My guardian has left York. I saw him two days before I came away, and he told me then he should refuse to pay my last half-term’s bill, which came to £7. I enclose thirty shillings now—all I have; and you may depend on my sending the rest as soon as I can earn it; for I shall be miserable as long as I owe a farthing to Bolsover.”
Having written this dismal letter, and having posted it with its enclosure, he bade farewell to Grangerham, and wandered forth with the sympathetic Julius out on to the quiet heath, and there lay down—not to sleep, but to think.