“Clip!” called the invalid.
Railsford went to his side and quietly replaced the covering which had been tossed aside.
“Clip! look alive—he’s coming—don’t say a word, hang on to his legs, you know—En jam tempus erat—Munger, you cad, why don’t you come? Italiam fato profugus. Hah! got you, my man. Shove him in, quick! Strike a light, do you hear? here they come. What are you doing, Clip?—turn him face up. That’s for blackguarding me before the whole house! Clip put me up to it. Don’t cut and leave me in the lurch, I say. You’re locking me in the boot-box!—let me out—I’m in for the mile, you know. Who’s got my shoes? Pastor cum traheret per freta navibus. Well run, sir! He’s giving out! I say, I say. I can’t keep it up. I must stop. Clip, you put me up to it, old man. It’ll never come out—never—never. He thinks it was Railsford, ho, ho! I’ll never do such a thing again. Come along—sharp—coast’s clear!”
Then he began to conjugate a Greek verb, sometimes shouting the words and sitting up in bed, and sometimes half whimpering them as Railsford gently laid him back on the pillow. There was not much fear of Railsford dropping asleep again after this. The sick lad scarcely ceased his wild talk all the night through. Now he was going over again in detail that dark night’s work in the boot-box; now he was construing Homer to the doctor; now he was being run down in the mile race; now he was singing one of his old child’s hymns; now he was laughing over the downfall of Mr Bickers; now he was making a speech at the debating society. It was impossible for the listener to follow all his wild incoherent talk, it was all so mixed up and jumbled. But if Railsford harboured any doubts as to the correctness of his surmise about the picture, the circumstantial details of the outrage repeated over and over in the boy’s wild ravings effectually dispelled them.
He knew now the whole of the wretched story from beginning to end. The proud boy’s resentment at the insult he had received in the presence of his house, the angry passions which had urged him to the act of revenge, the cowardly precautions suggested by his confederate to escape detection, and the terrors and remorse following the execution of their deep-laid scheme. Yet if the listener had no right to the secret locked up in the desk, still less had he the right to profit by these sad delirious confessions.
Towards morning the poor exhausted sufferer, who during the night had scarcely remained a moment motionless, or abated a minute in his wild, wandering talk, sunk back on his pillow and closed his eyes like one in whom the flame of life had sunk almost to the socket. Railsford viewed the change with the utmost alarm, and hastened to give the restoratives prescribed by the doctor in case of a collapse. But the boy apparently had run through his strength and lacked even the power to swallow.
For two terrible hours it seemed to Railsford as if the young life were slipping through his hands; and he scarcely knew at one time if the prayer he sent up would reach its destination before the soul of him on whose behalf it rose. But soon after the school clock had tolled eight, and when the clear spring sun rising above the chapel tower sent its rays cheerily into the sick-chamber, the breathing became smoother and more regular, and the hand on which that of Railsford rested grew moist.
The doctor arrived an hour later, and smiled approvingly as he glanced at the patient.
“He’s going to behave himself after all,” said he. “You’ll find he will wake up in an hour or two with an appetite. Give him an egg beaten up in milk, with a spoonful of brandy.”
“What about his parents?” asked Railsford.