“I’m afraid he always does talk more than is good for him,” said Miss Alicia. “He looks quite feverish.”
“He has been talking to me about Jem Temple Barholm,” explained Tembarom. “We’ve had a regular chin together. He thinks a heap of poor Jem.”
Miss Alicia looked startled, and Mrs. Hibblethwaite was plainly flustered tremendously. She quite lost her temper.
“Eh,” she exclaimed, “tha wants tha young yed knocked off, Tummas Hibblethwaite. He’s fair daft about the young gentleman as—as was killed. He axes questions mony a day till I’d give him the stick if he was na a cripple. He moithers me to death.”
“I’ll bring you some of those New York papers to look at,” Tembarom said to the boy as he went away.
He walked back through the village to Temple Barholm, holding Miss Alicia’s elbow in light, affectionate guidance and support, a little to her embarrassment and also a little to her delight. Until he had taken her into the dining-room the night before she had never seen such a thing done. There was no over-familiarity in the action. It merely seemed somehow to suggest liking and a wish to take care of her.
“That little fellow in the village,” he said after a silence in which it occurred to her that he seemed thoughtful, “what a little freak he is! He’s got an idea that there’s a picture in the gallery that’s said to look like Jem Temple Barholm when he was a boy. Have you ever heard anything about it? He says a servant told his mother it was there.”
“Yes, there is one,” Miss Alicia answered. “I sometimes go and look at it. But it makes me feel very sad. It is the handsome boy who was a page in the court of Charles II. He died in his teens. His name was Miles Hugo Charles James. Jem could see the likeness himself. Sometimes for a little joke I used to call him Miles Hugo.”
“I believe I remember him,” said Tembarom. “I believe I asked Palford his name. I must go and have a look at him again. He hadn’t much better luck than the fellow that looked like him, dying as young as that.”
(To be continued)