Perpleaities, 67

 

man—that night he was to be reminded of
the secret, indeed.

Stephen had been in bed a few minutes;
Johnnie was still moving about in the room,
but rather as if he were lingering idly than
doing anything in particular. By-and-by he
looked round at his brother, who was just
going off to sleep; but thinking Johnnie was
going to speak to him, he roused himself and
opened his eyes.

Johnnie, however, did not speak; he thought
his brother was sleeping already. Softly
he opened a little drawer, and drew out a
knife.

A large handsome knife, with a great white
handle. He opened one blade after another,
looked at them, flashed them backwards and
forwards in the candle-light, then shut them,
and put the knife softly back into the drawer.

Why had he hidden it there? What had
the master said to-day? What was Johnnie’s
secret with Ned Rice?

No; it was impossible. His brother—his
brave, kind, good, clever brother—a Ste-
phen could not end the sentence in his
own mind even. It was too terrible; it was
impossible. And yet what—what did it all
mean?