Part 27 (1/2)

But he could not help being unhappy. The time seemed very long. The weather became very warm. All that he had to do out of the office was done languidly, and he began to wish for the time of his mother's return. He received little pleasure from his books, but he faithfully gave the allotted time to them, and got, it is to be hoped, some profit.

He made himself busy in the garden, too, and gave little d.i.c.k Lacy his accustomed lesson in writing and book-keeping as regularly as usual.

But, through all his work and all his amus.e.m.e.nts, he carried with him a sense of discomfort. He never could forget that all was not right between him and his master, though he could not guess the reason. He seemed to see him oftener than usual these days. He sometimes overtook him on his way home; and, once or twice, when he was working in the garden, he saw him cross the bridge and pa.s.s the house. Once he came at night to the house about some business, which, he said, had been forgotten. David was mortified and vexed, because he had not heard him knock, and because, when he entered, he found him lying asleep with his head on his Greek dictionary, and he answered the questions put to him stupidly enough; but he saw that business was only a pretence.

Next day, kind, but foolish Mrs Lacy told him that Mr Oswald had been at her house asking all manner of questions about him; what he did, and where he went, and how he pa.s.sed his time; and though David was surprised, and not very well pleased to hear it, it was not because he thought Mr Oswald had begun to doubt him. Indeed, it came into his mind, that, perhaps, he was going to be asked at last to pa.s.s a few days at the big house with Frank, who had returned home not at all well. He was, for a moment, quite certain of this, when he carried in the letters in the morning, for Mr Oswald's manner was much kinder, and he spoke to him just as he used to do. But he did not ask him, and Frank did not come down to see him at the bank, as David hoped he might.

That night, Mr Caldwell returned to Singleton. He did not arrive till after the bank was closed, but he came down to see David before he went home. The first words he spoke to him were concerning the lost money; and, how it came about, David could never very well remember. Whether the accusation was made in words, or whether he caught the idea of suspicion in his friend's hesitating words and anxious looks, he did not know, nor did he know in what words he answered him. It was as if some one had struck him a heavy blow, and then he heard Mr Caldwell's voice, saying:

”Have patience, David. You are not the first one that has been falsely accused. Anger never helped any one through trouble yet. What would your mother say?”

His mother! David uttered a cry in which there was both anger and pain.

Was his mother to hear her son accused as a thief?

”David,” said his friend solemnly, ”it is at a time like this that our trust in G.o.d stands us in stead. There is nothing to be dismayed at, if you are innocent.”

”If!” said David, with a gasp.

”Ay! 'if!' Your mother herself might say as much as that. And you have not said that the charge is a false one yet.”

”I did not think I should need to say so to you!”

”But you see, my lad, I am not speaking for myself. I was bidden ask you the question point blank, and I must give your answer to him that sent me. My word is another matter. You must answer to him.”

”To Mr Oswald, I suppose? Why should he suspect me? Has he been suspecting me all these weeks? Was that the reason he wished nothing said about it in the office?”

”That was kindly meant, at any rate; and you needna' let your eyes flash on me,” said Mr Caldwell, severely. ”Don't you think it has caused him much unhappiness to be obliged to suspect you?”

”But why should he suspect _me_?”

”There seemed to be no one else. But he must speak for himself. I have nothing to say for him. I have only to carry him your answer.”

”I will answer him myself,” said David, rising, as though he were going at once to do it. But he only walked to the window and stood looking out.

”David,” said Mr Caldwell, ”put away your books, and come home with me.”

”No, I cannot do that,” said David, shortly.

He did not turn round to answer, and there was not another word spoken for a while. By and by Mr Caldwell rose, and said, in his slow way:

”David, my lad, the only thing that you have to do in this matter is to see that you bear it well. The accusation will give but small concern to your mother, in comparison with the knowledge that her son has been indulging in an angry and unchristian spirit.” And then he went away.

He did not go very far, however. It was getting late, and, in the gathering darkness, and the unaccustomed silence of the place, the house seemed very dreary and forsaken to him, and he turned back before he reached the gate.

”David,” said he kindly, opening the door, ”come away home with me.”

But David only answered as he had done before.

”No, I cannot do that.”

He said it in a gentler tone, however, and added: