Hardwicke let himself out through the little wicket-gate, and went back to the Latimer Arms. He entered the bedroom without disturbing Archie, who lay with his sunburnt face on the white pillow, smiling in his sleep. He could not find it in his heart to arouse him. The boy's lips parted, he murmured a word or two, and seemed to sink into a yet deeper slumber. Hardwicke went softly out, gave the landlady directions about breakfast, and returned, watch in hand. "I suppose I must," he said to himself.
But he stopped short. Carroll stirred, stretched himself, his eyes were half open: evidently his waking was a pleasant one. But suddenly the unfamiliar aspect of the room attracted his attention: he looked eagerly round, a shadow swept across his face, and he turned and saw Hardwicke. "It's true!" he said, and flung out his arms in a paroxysm of despair.
Harry walked to the window and leant out. Presently a voice behind him asked, "Have you been to the farm, Mr. Hardwicke?"
"Yes," said Harry. "But there is no news. She passed a tolerably quiet night: there is no change."
"I've been asleep," said Archie after a pause. "I never thought I should sleep." He looked ashamed of having done so.
"It would have been strange if you hadn't: you were worn out."
"My watch has run down," the other continued. "What is the time?"
"Twenty minutes past seven. I want to speak to you, Carroll. I think you had better go home."
"Home? To Fordborough? To Raymond?"
"No. Really home, to your own people. You can write to your cousin. You don't want to go back to him?"