"No. The doctor's orders are that no one but the nurse is to enter his room. There, let us end this painful interview."

"I am innocent, sir, indeed!" it was upon Richard's lips to say; but the stern, doubting look on the tutor's face checked him, and he went slowly up to his room, utterly crushed as he sank into a chair, conscious the next moment that the curtain which separated it from his bedchamber was pushed aside, and Jerry appeared.

"Been a-waiting, sir. They're a-saying, sir, that you tried to kill Mr Mark Frayne because he was going to tell on you about some money troubles. It ain't true, is it, sir?"

"True!" cried Richard, flushing indignantly.

"I knowed it wasn't!" said Jerry, triumphantly. "You couldn't ha' done such a thing, S'Richard; but I wouldn't ha' believed as you could hit so hard."

"Go now, please."

"Yes, sir, just a-going; but don't you take on, sir. P'raps he'll get better; but, if he don't--well, sir, he's your cousin, but--"

"That will do; now go."

Jerry gave his mouth a slap, and hurried from the room.

CHAPTER SIX.

DOWN IN THE DEPTHS.

Half-mad with despair and misery, one thought constantly returned with terrible persistence to Richard Frayne as he tramped up and down his prison--for so it now seemed, though neither locks nor bars stayed his way to freedom. The pleasant, handsomely-furnished room was the same as it had been only a few hours before, with musical instruments and treasured hobbies that he had collected together; and yet not the same, for it was the cell in which he was confined by the order of the man whose word had always been to him as a law, and in which he felt as firmly shut in as if he had given his parole of honour not to leave it until told to descend.

The thirst for news was again rising. Mark, they had informed him, was lying insensible, slowly sinking into eternity, and he could not go to his side, fall upon his knees, and tell him that he would sooner have suffered death than this should have happened. And there, crushing him down, as his eyes were constantly turned upon that helmet, while he tramped the room or sank upon one of the chairs, was the thought, with its maddening persistency, that it was better that his parents had not lived to see their son's position--the shame and despair which were now his lot--always that thought; for he recalled the days of sorrow, a couple of years back, when the gallant officer, whose name had been a power in India, was s.n.a.t.c.hed away, and the loving wife and mother followed him within a month.

Light-hearted, of an affectionate nature, and always on the warmest terms of intimacy with his fellow-pupils, his position now seemed to him doubly hard in his loneliness, for not one had come near him to take him by the hand. The words raved out in the quarrel had run through them and hardened all against him. They could have sympathised with him in the terrible result of the encounter; but the dishonourable, criminal act which his cousin's charge had fixed upon him soured all, and they readily obeyed the princ.i.p.al's wish that he should be left to himself.

There were times when it seemed impossible to him that the charge he had made should so have recoiled and fixed itself upon him; but, by a strange perverseness, thus it was, and, saving by the servant, hardly a friendly word had been spoken.

"Am I going mad?" he muttered, as he tramped up and down, holding his throbbing head. "It seems more than I can bear!"

It was evening now, a glorious summer evening; with the mellow sunshine lighting up the lake-like meadows, for the river was far out of bounds and spreading still; but Richard Frayne saw nothing through the black cloud which seemed to shut him in. Then all at once, sending an electric thrill through him, there was a sharp tap at the door, and he turned to meet the visitor.

Only Jerry, who came in bearing a napkin-covered tray, holding it resting upon the edge as he cleared a s.p.a.ce upon the table.

"Well?" cried Richard, hoa.r.s.ely.

"Your dinner, sir, that I was to bring up."

"How is he? How is he?" panted Richard.

The man looked at him sadly, shook his head, and went on clearing a place for the tray.

"Why don't you speak?" cried Richard, fiercely. "Not--not--?"

He could not finish.

"No, sir; and the big doctor hasn't got here yet. There you are, sir.

Now do sit down and eat a bit; you must want something!"

"Take it away!"

"No, no, sir; do, please, try!"

"Take it away, I tell you!"

Jerry stood looking at him piteously, rubbing his hands one over the other as if he were washing them.

"I know it goes agin' you, sir, of course; but you ought, sir; indeed, you ought!"

"Tell me," cried Richard, "who is with him?"

"The doctor, sir, and the nurse; and master's always going up and down.

I met him only just now that upset and white it gave me quite a turn.

He shook his head at me. 'A terrible business, Brigley, very!' he says; 'a terrible business! I wouldn't have had it happen for a thousand pounds!'"

"There, go away now, Jerry! Pray, pray, don't stop! Take all that down!"

"No, sir; I can't do that!" said the man. "It was master's orders, and you must really try to eat."

Richard sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands, but only sprang up the next minute upon feeling his shoulder touched, and saw the man leaning over him.

"Can't I do nothing for you, S'Richard?" whispered Jerry. "I'd do anything for you, sir; indeed, I would."

"Go to my cousin's room and wait till you can get some news. Jerry, if it comes to the worst, I shall go mad."

The man looked at him compa.s.sionately, and then went out on tiptoe, to return after an interval to thrust in his head, which he gave a mournful shake, and then withdrew.

The evening pa.s.sed and the night was gliding on, with Richard still pacing the room from time to time, when Jerry once more came to the door, glided in, closed it, and hurriedly whispered--

"The doctor's down from London, sir, and he's still in Mr Mark's room."

"What does he say?" cried Richard, wildly.

"Can't tell yet, sir; but as soon as ever I hear I'll come back."

Jerry crept away, and the prisoner sat down once more to think. He felt that he would soon know now--that he would shortly have to face the awful truth--and a chilling feeling of despair came upon him with redoubled violence; while, as he sat there, he gave up all hope. There was the future to face, and now a great change seemed to come over him, as if it were the energy begotten of despair.

There was the worst to face, with the inquest, the examination, and the possibility of the wrong construction still being placed upon his acts.

Everything had gone against him, everything would continue to go against him, and he told himself that it was impossible to face it. His word seemed to go for nothing; and, yielding to the horror of his position, he sat there in the darkest part of his room, wishing earnestly that he could exchange places with the unhappy lad lying yonder between life and death.

Suddenly he started, for, sounding solemn and strange in the midnight air, the bell of the Cathedral boomed out the hour, the long-drawn strokes of the hammer seeming as if they would never come to an end; while, when the last stroke fell, it was succeeded in the silence of the night by a dull, quivering vibration that slowly died away.

And there, with overstrained nerves, Richard Frayne sat, waiting still for the coming of the news. He must have that, he told himself, before he could act; but still it did not come.

Twice over he went to the door, with the intention of opening it to listen, but he shrank away.