For many
minutes I stood staring--needless to say, in vain--and so, the
morning being chilly, crept back to bed with the shivers on me.
Two hours later, in the midst of my dressing, I looked out of the
window again, and I saw the St. Mawes packet reaching across towards
Falmouth merrily, quite as if nothing had happened. Yet something--
I told myself--_must_ have happened.
The Copenhagen Academy enjoyed a holiday that day, for Captain
Branscome failed to present himself, and Mr. Stimcoe lay under the
influence of sedatives. At eleven in the morning he awoke, and began
to discuss the character of Talleyrand at the pitch of his voice.
Its echoes reached me where I sat disconsolate in the deserted
schoolroom, and I went upstairs to the bedroom door to offer my
services. Doggy Bates, Pilkington, and Scotty Maclean had hied them
immediately after breakfast to the harbour, to beg, borrow, or steal
a boat and fish for mackerel; and Mrs. Stimcoe, worn out with
watching, set down my faithful presence to motives of which I was
shamefully innocent. In point of fact, I had lurked at home because
I could not bear company. I preferred the deserted schoolroom,
though Heaven knows what I would not have given for the dull
distraction of work--an hour of Rule of Three with Captain Branscome,
or Caesar's Commentaries with Mr.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96