“I will. Let me take the letter, please.”
His uncle silently handed it to him; silently he turned away and walked down the hall towards number fifteen. At the door he stopped, with his hand raised, just ready to knock. He could hear the boys laughing inside the room, while he stood there outside, waiting to put an end to all their frolic. He longed to go back to his uncle, to beg him to take his place; but it was too late, he must go on. He rapped desperately.
Slowly the knob turned and the door swung open, showing Lieutenant Wilde on the threshold. The boys had turned to the door, expecting to see one of their mates, Max perhaps, or Jack, come to continue the fun. At sight of their teacher’s wan white face, Harry sprang forward.
“Lieutenant Wilde!” he exclaimed in alarm. “What’s the matter? Are you ill?”
With an effort, Lieutenant Wilde rallied.
“No,” he said; “I’m not ill, so don’t be frightened. I only came to bring you a message from the doctor.” And he dropped into a chair, while his fingers closed upon the letter in his hand with a nervous pressure which left the nails white and bloodless. The boys watched him anxiously, sure that something was amiss.
“The doctor has had a letter from your home,” Lieutenant Wilde went on, after a moment, with a vain attempt to assume his usual quiet manner.
Leon’s hand was on his shoulder, and he felt the boy’s fingers grow rigid, as they clutched him.
“Who is it?” he asked abruptly. “Some one is ill, I know.”
Delay was useless, and Lieutenant Wilde answered at once, feeling that it would be cruel to waste words.
Again the boy’s thought had rushed on in advance of the words.
Irving Wilde could not speak. For his only answer, he rose and put his arm around the boy. He was none too soon for with a cry,—
“Oh, Hal! Oh, daddy, daddy!” Leon reeled where he stood.
With the help of Harry, who until then had remained speechless and dazed, Lieutenant Wilde laid him gently on his bed and sat down by his side, with one hand on his, the other arm around Harry’s shoulders. There was comfort and strength in his touch; but he sat there silent, while the twilight in the room slowly changed to darkness, for he knew only too well that, as yet, no words could comfort the sorrowing hearts before him.