Charlie did his best to attend to what the invisible and inarticulate voice was saying, and tried to recall what his father had told him about not letting new scenes and new companions tempt him to forget of neglect the lessons of duty and religion which he had learned at his parents’ home; but it was not easy work, and to him it was a relief when all was over, and the boys proceeded to file out of the chapel.
“Where are they all going?” he inquired, turning round to where Tom Drift had been standing.
That young man, however, was no longer there. He had gone off to enjoy the questionable luxury of roast potatoes in a friend’s study, entirely forgetting his young and forlorn charge.
Charlie was puzzled. He was sure he could never find his way back to Mrs Packer’s through such a maze of passages, and he knew not where else to go.
As he stood watching in despair the last remnant of his fellow-worshippers passing out, and wondering what was to become of him, he became aware of two big boys stopping in front of him and looking at him.
“That’s him!” said one, whose grammar was perhaps not his strongest point at this moment.
“Why, he’s only a kid!” said the other, who, being sixteen, felt fully justified in so designating my young master.
“I can’t help that, I know it’s him,” said the first.
“I say, you fellow,” added he, addressing Charlie, “wasn’t it you drove up to the front door in a cab this afternoon?”
Charlie trembled in his shoes. More than once had his heart misgiven him, he had committed an unpardonable offence in the mode of his advent to Randlebury; and now, with these two awful accusers before him, he felt as if his doom was come.