The tutor repeated as nearly as he could the conversation of that memorable night.
“Is it not more probable that a fortnight earlier his mind might be clearer than at the very moment of his death?”
“It is possible, of course; but the letter does not seem to show it. Besides, the inscription at the back of the portrait (which you have forgotten) is a distinct record of the boy’s death. I wish you had not shown me the letter, because the only advice I have to give you is that you do with it what he invites you to do.”
“Look here, Armstrong!” said Roger, getting up and walking restlessly up and down the room; “you mean kindly, I know—you always do—but you don’t seem to realise that you are tempting me to be a cad and a coward!”
The tutor looked up, and his eyebrow twitched uncomfortably. Roger had never spoken like this before, and the heat of the words took even him aback.
“You asked my advice, unfortunately, and I gave it,” said he, rather drily.
“Do you think I should have an hour’s peace if I didn’t do everything in my power to find my brother now?” retorted the boy. “You’re not obliged to help me, I know.”
“I am—I am bound to help you; not because I am your tutor or your guardian, but because I love you.”
“Then help me in this. My father, I feel sure, was right. Whether he was or not, and whether I have to do it single-handed or not, I mean to find my brother.”
“Certainly you may count on me, old fellow,” said the tutor; “but be quite sure first that you know what you are undertaking. If it is not a wild-goose chase it is something uncommonly like it. You resolve to waste a whole year. You are not strong, your future is all in Maxfield; the happiness of your mother, your hopes of winning the object of your affections, are involved in the step you take. Even if this brother of yours be living (of which the chances seem to be a hundred to one he is not), he is, as your father says, a man who has gone to the bad; not the boy of the picture, but a man twice your age, of the Ratman order, let us say, probably the worst possible companion for yourself, and a bad friend to the people who already count you as their master. Had he been living with any desire or intention of claiming his title, he would certainly have come forward months ago—”