Stepping very quietly, he crept down the few steps, then peered into his master’s cabin, the door of which stood half open.
Preston, seated with his elbows on the table, his head resting between his hands, was staring at some letters spread out in front of him. Thus he remained for several moments, motionless, though from where Tom stood his heavy breathing was audible.
Tom gave a light knock on the door, then entered.
Preston gave no sign.
“Is there anything more I can do for you, sir, before I go to bed?” the man asked.
Preston did not reply. He still made no sign, and seemed unconscious of the other’s presence.
Tom was about to repeat the inquiry, when all at once Preston collapsed in a heap, his head falling forward heavily on to the table.
Instantly his servant sprang to his assistance. Thinking he must have fainted, though never before had he known him to faint, the man loosened his collar, then ran quickly away and returned with water with which he began to bathe his master’s temples and the back of his neck. Thus he continued for some minutes, at the end of which time Preston began slowly to recover consciousness. Soon he looked into Tom’s face, then gripped his hand tightly.
“Tom,” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “I have had bad news, very bad news. I may be in great difficulties soon, and you are about the only man who will then be able to help me. I can trust you implicitly, eh, Tom?”
He gave the man a searching look, with an expression in his eyes which Tom had never seen there before. Though only his servant, Tom had come to be looked upon by Preston, who had so often faced death with him, as a personal friend.