"David, you--you opened that window."

"Nay, sir, I never touched it," said the gardener stoutly.

"Yes; while I was gone for the saw and wedges."

"Nay, sir, I come down and just looked about, that's all; I never touched the window."

"But--but there was the beautiful, carefully-ground speculum there on that bench, just as uncle and I had finished it. We left it covered over last night--with the blanket--and--and--" he added in a tone of despair, "it isn't there now."

"Well, I never touched it, sir," said the gardener; "you may search my pockets if you like."

Tom could not see the absurdity of the man's suggestion, and in his agony of mind, feeling as he did what must have happened if any one had dragged at the blanket, he stooped down once more to gather it up, but paused with his hand an inch or two away from the highest fold, not daring to touch it.

"It's broken," he moaned to himself; "I know it is!" and the cold perspiration stood out upon his forehead.

"I shouldn't ha' persoomed to touch none o' master's contrapshums, sir,"

broke in the gardener, rather sharply, "so don't you go and tell him as I did. I know how partickler he always is."

"Broken--broken!" murmured Tom. "The poor speculum--and after all that work."

Then slowly taking the fold of the blanket in his hand he raised it up, and drew it on one side, faintly hoping that he might be wrong, but hoping against hope, for the next moment he had unveiled it where it lay, to see his worst fears confirmed--the beautiful limpid-looking object lay upon the flag at the end, broken in three pieces, one of which reflected the boy's agitated face.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"Oh, David!" cried Tom at last, "how could you touch?"

There was so much agony of spirit in the boy's tones that the gardener felt moved, and remained for a few moments silent. Then rousing himself--

"I didn't, Master Tom; I never touched it. Go and swear I didn't 'fore all the judges in the land."

"Don't tell a lie to hide it," said Tom bitterly.

"Lie! me tell a lie! S'elp me, Master Tom, it's as true as true."

"But you reached over to open the window, and knocked it off, David."

"Swear as I never went a-nigh the window, sir. Don't you go and say it was me when it was you."

"I?" cried Tom, flushing.

"Well, sir, you say it was me, and I see you reach out, and the blanket all falled down--now didn't I, sir?"

"Yes; the blanket went down, but the speculum was not in it, or we should have heard it fall."

"Not if it was all wrapped up in that there blanket, sir."

"I tell you we should," cried Tom, in his angry despair. "You don't know how heavy it was. What shall I do? What will uncle say?"

"Well, sir, if you put it like that, and own to it fair, I should say as he'll kick up the jolliest row he ever made since I broke the whole of the greenhouse light by making it slip right off, and letting it go smash. And then I'd gone straight to him and told him, as I should advise you to do, sir, at once. Master don't like to find things out."

"But I did not break it," cried Tom.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, sir. It was an accident, of course; but I'd go straight to him and tell him."

"David!" cried Tom fiercely, "you're a miserable, cowardly wretch! I did not break it, and you know it. How can I go and take all the blame?"

"Well, sir, how can I, as am as innocent as one o' my best blooms?"

cried David. "Well, in all my born days, I never did."

"Why don't you speak out and own to it, sir?" said Tom indignantly.

"It's horrible enough after the way we've worked at that speculum to have it broken; but you make it ten times worse by denying it."

"I'd say I did it, sir, in a minute," replied David indignantly; "but it goes hard to see a young gent like you, master's own nevvy, ready to try and bring the whole business down on a poor working-man's head, and so I tell you to your face. If any one's cowardly, it arn't me, and I'm ready to come across to master and tell him so. I'm ashamed of you, sir, that I am. I thought you was a real gentleman, and was beginning to like you; but it's all over between us, sir, for you arn't the sort of lad I thought you. Me break it? You know I never did. Why, I've never been in the place since you and master have been in here busy.

Shame on you, Master Tom! Go and tell your uncle, like you ought. It's an accident; but don't you go and make it worse," and with these words David stumped out of the lower part of the old mill, and made his way back to his garden, leaving Tom hot with indignation against him, and half choking with a feeling of misery.

"And uncle has got to know," he said half aloud; "uncle has got to know."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

The speculum that was never to reflect the bright face of the moon was easily moved now, and Tom stooped down and picked up one by one the three triangular pieces, and laid them upon the bench, to find then that a good-sized elliptical piece, something in shape like a fresh-water mussel-sh.e.l.l, yet remained upon the stones. This he raised, and found that it fitted in at the edge beneath.

There was nothing to be gained in what he did, but Tom stood there carefully fitting the fractures together, and spending a great deal of time over the task, while the mirror reflected his sorrowful face as he bent over it. And as he ran his fingers along the three lines of union, the boy's thoughts went back to the scene that evening at Mornington Crescent, when the big china vase was dragged down, to break to shivers in the hall.

"And Sam said I broke that, just as David says I broke this, and all to escape blame. I don't want to tell uncle that David broke it, but I must; I'm not going to take the blame myself, for it would be cowardly as well as lying. But it is so hard. He will be so angry."

So Tom communed as he pieced the fragments of the mirror together, ending by getting the sponge, rinsing it well, and carefully removing a few smears and finger-marks, before taking a clean cloth and wiping it quite dry.

"That's no good," he said bitterly. "I'm only doing it so as to keep from going and telling uncle, and I must tell him--I must tell him, and the sooner the better."

But still he did not stir. He picked up the blanket, and folded that up neatly, to lay it beside the speculum, and then looked round for something else to do.

This he found in the window, which he opened and shut two or three times over, before drawing away from it, with a sigh, and going to the door to look across at the house, where his uncle would be writing.

"I ought to go and tell him, but it is so hard to do. Suppose he thinks it is my work--suppose David goes and accuses me of having broken it to escape himself."

Tom stood aghast at the idea, and was for rushing across at once, but something seemed to hold him back, and a good half-hour pa.s.sed before he fully strung himself up to go.

Then, closing and locking the door, he did the same by the gate; and now, pale and firm enough, he hung up the keys, and then went straight to the study door, paused for a few moments to think what to say first, and then walked straight in.

"Uncle, I've come to give you very bad news," he said in a husky voice, and then he stopped short.

There was no one in the room, and on going out into the hall, he found that his uncle's hat and stick were missing, and consequently he must have gone down the village to post his letters, and perhaps drop in at the Vicarage on his return.

"Oh, how tiresome!" thought Tom; "just too when I felt I could tell him.

Now I must begin all over again."