Jack, whose luggage had not come, and who was obliged to borrow from Howard’s wardrobe, looked like an overgrown boy in garments too small for him.  But he did not mind it, and with Howard discussed the events of the evening, as they sat over the fire the latter had lighted in his room.  Naturally Eloise was the subject of their conversation.

“I wrote you I had a presentiment that she was to come into my life in some way, but I had no idea it was to be this way,” Howard said, as he puffed at his cigar and talked of their adventure and Eloise.

That she was very handsome and had pretty little feet went without saying, and that both were sorry for her was equally, of course.  Jack was the more so, as his was the more unselfish and sympathetic nature.

“By Jove, didn’t she bear the cutting of that boot like a hero, and how is she ever to get to school with that ankle?” he said; “and I think she ought to have a doctor to see if any bones are broken.  Suppose you get one in the morning, and tell him not to send his bill to her but to me.”

Howard looked up quickly, and Jack went on, “I wrote you that Mrs. Brown said she was poor, and I should know it by her boots.”

“Her boots!” Howard repeated, and Jack continued, “Yes, wet as they were I noticed they were half-worn, and had been blacked many times.  She can’t afford to pay many doctor’s bills, and I ask you again, how is she to get to school?”

Howard did not know, unless they made another chair and carried her.

“I wouldn’t mind it much for the sake of her arm around my neck.  I can feel it yet.  Can’t you?” he said.

Jack could feel it and the little wet hand which once or twice had touched his face, but something in his nature forbade his talking about it.  It might have been fun for them, but he knew it was like death to the girl, and that she had shrank from it all, and only submitted because she could not help it.  He was very sorry for her, and thought of her the last moment before he fell asleep, and the first moment he awoke with Howard in the room telling him it was after breakfast time, and his uncle, who did not like to be kept waiting, was already in a temper and blowing like a northeaster.

The Colonel, who was suffering from an attack of rheumatic gout, was more irritable than usual.  He had not liked having his horses and carriage go out in the rain, and had sat up waiting for the return of his nephew, and when Sam came in, telling what had happened to the carriage and horses, and that he must go back with a lantern to the park gates and see if the new school mistress was alive, he went into a terrible passion, swearing at the weather, and the late train, and the school mistress who he seemed to think was the cause of the accident.

“What business had she in the carriage?  Why did she come in such a storm?  Why didn’t she take the ’bus, and if the ’bus wasn’t there, why didn’t she—?” He didn’t know what, and it took all the tact of Peter, who was still in the family and old like his master, to quiet him.