The old man drew himself up majestically, cast one more withering glance on the completely humiliated James, and took his departure.
The next morning nine had not ceased striking on the clock standing on the mantelpiece in Mr. Gorham's study when James Riley was formally and seriously ushered by his father into these, the sacred precincts, where none entered except by its owner's invitation; but it was a far different James from the man who had called upon Mr. Gorham some weeks earlier. The younger Riley's self-assurance was missing, his jaunty air was replaced by a bearing almost timid in its gentleness, his voice had become halty; and when Mr. Gorham first spoke to him he started suddenly, turning his face toward his questioner, and showing apprehension in every feature.
Gorham noticed the change, and, being ignorant of the tragic events of the evening before, was frankly surprised.
"Have you been ill, James?" he inquired, quietly.
"Oh, no, sir—I'm feeling very well, I thank you, sir," James answered in a quick, frightened voice.
"I am glad to hear it," Gorham answered, but his tone suggested incredulity.
"I have been some worrited lately," James added, by way of explanation.
"I s'pose you knows how that tells on a feller, sir."
"Yes, James," Gorham agreed. "It comes to all of us sooner or later. Now tell me what is the important information which your father promised me you would bring with you ?"
"Hasn't he told you, sir?"
"Not a word, James. Has it to do with the matter you have been working on for me, or is it some trouble of your own which has caused the worry you speak of?"