It was a handsome set of books the Doctor gave him, and more than all his other treasures of prizes and friendly presents, was this one preserved, for it assured him that the Doctor, who never said what he did not believe, regarded him with the same trust as ever.
Chapter VII.
a letter, and a fatal chase.
Three months had passed since the break-up at Blackrock School, and Martin had faithfully fulfilled his promise to keep up a brisk correspondence with his old friend. But no letter gave Howard a keener pleasure, than the one from which the following extracts are taken, and which will connect the history of events:
To Howard Pemberton.
My dear Old Chum: Every day I seem to miss you more and more, and I only wish the time had come for me to throw off school and take my plunge, as you have done, into the great stream of life. I don’t take an interest in anything now; even cricket is a bore, and the talks about forming for foot-ball fail to start me up. The Doctor evidently misses you, and very often inquires after your welfare. He is not himself at all. I think the end of last term shook him a great deal. Mrs. Brier is as she always was. I don’t know what some of us would do without her.
Is not my cousin spending a very long time at Ashley House? I think I told you I was invited to go and see her there, and I could write you a dozen pages or more about the visit, if time allowed—but it doesn’t. Madeleine and Ethel are as thick as thieves. I can quite believe that my cousin has cheered and helped them all very much in this time of their great trial, and I don’t wonder at any girl loving her, for she is a first-rate companion, and as good as she is beautiful.
I had a long chat with Mr. Morton, and he appeared to be much interested in hearing me talk of poor Digby’s ways and doings amongst us. But you hardly know sometimes whether he is awake or asleep when you are talking to him, for he keeps his head buried in his hands. He seems regularly smitten down, poor man! He is talking of going abroad for some months, and I think it will do him good. If he goes, it will only be upon the condition that Madeleine stays with Ethel. I shouldn’t be surprised if she were to become a permanent resident there.
I don’t know if you ever heard Madeleine’s history. It is a singular one, like my own. Her father and my father were partners in business. A fire ruined them both; and, as you know, an accident on the railway occurred which proved fatal to both. My poor mother I never knew, and she knew nothing of these troubles; but Madeleine’s mother had to bear them all, and the weight was too heavy; she died broken-hearted, the life crushed out of her by misfortune upon misfortune. So, up to the present time, Madeleine and I have been, to a very great extent, dependent upon others; and as our circumstances in life have been so strangely similar, we are more like brother and sister than cousins. I shall be very glad, for her sake, if she finds in the Mortons more than is ordinarily found in chance friends. And I shall be glad, for my own sake, when I can release the dear old Doctor from the burden with which he willingly shackled himself when he took me under his care.
I wish I could have a good long talk with you, my dear old boy, on this and a hundred other subjects; but I can’t. And now I must knock off for to-night, as the Doctor has just sent for me.