Chills running over her at the thought, she turned to the fire as the thing nearest life, but at the moment started at a hollow call of her own name.  A face was looking in at her through the geraniums!  She shrieked aloud, and clasped her hands over her eyes.

‘Don’t make a row.  Open the door!’

It was such a relief to hear something unghostly, that she sprang to the door; but as she undid it, all her scruples seized her, and she tried to hold it, saying, ’Don’t come in!  You unfortunate boy, do you know what you have done?’

But Tom Madison was in a mood to which her female nature cowered.  He pushed the door open, saying authoritatively, ‘Tell me how he is!’

‘He is as ill as he can be to be alive,’ said Charlotte, actuated at once by the importance of being the repository of such tidings, and by the excitement of communicating them to one so deeply concerned.  ’Mr. Poynings came in to fetch Mrs. Beckett—­he would have no one else to nurse him—­and he says the old Lord and Missus have never had their clothes off these two nights.’

‘Then, was it along of them stones?’ asked the lad, hoarsely.

‘Yourself should know best!’ returned Charlotte.  ’Mr. Poynings says ’twas a piece of rock as big as that warming-pan as crushed his ankle! and you know—­’

‘I know nothing,’ said Tom.  ’Master kept me in all day yesterday, and I only heard just now at Little Northwold, where I’ve been to take home some knives of Squire Calcott’s.  Master may blow me up if he likes, but I couldn’t come till I’d heard the rights of it.  Is he so very bad?’

‘They’ve sent up to London for a doctor,’ pursued Charlotte.  ’Mr. Walby don’t give but little hope of him.  Poor young gentleman, I’m sure he had a good word from high and low!’

‘Well!  I’m gone!’ cried Tom, vehemently.  ’Goodbye to you, Charlotte Arnold!  You’ll never see me in these parts more!’

‘Gone!  Oh, Tom! what do you mean!’

’D’ye think I’ll stay here to have this here cast in my face?  Such a one as won’t never walk the earth again!’ and he burst out into passionate tears.  ‘I wish I was dead!’

‘Oh, hush, Tom!—­that is wicked!’

‘May be so!  I am all that’s wicked, and you all turn against me!’

‘I don’t turn against you,’ sobbed Charlotte, moved to the bottom of her gentle heart.

’You! you turned against me long ago.  You’ve been too proud to cast one look at me these three months; and he forgot me; and that’s what drew me on, when who cared what became of me—­nor I neither now.’

’Don’t speak that way!  Don’t say ’twas pride.  Oh no! but I had to behave proper, and how should I keep up acquaintance when they said you went on—­unsteady—­’

‘Aye, aye!  I know how it is,’ said poor Tom, with broken-down humility:  ’I was not fit for you then, and I’m next thing to a murderer now; and you’re like a white dove that the very fingers of me would grime.  I’ll take myself out of your way; but, let what will come of me, I’ll never forget you, Charlotte.’