Your father will think we have fallen into some harm.Come,Phineas,I'll help you on."His strong,cheery voice,added to the necessity of the circumstances,braced up my nerves.I took hold of his arm,and we marched on bravely through the shut-up town,and for a mile or two along the high-road leading to Norton Bury.There was a cool fresh breeze:and I often think one can walk so much further by night than by day.For some time,listening to John's talk about the stars--he had lately added astronomy to the many things he tried to learn--and recalling with him all that we had heard and seen this day,I hardly felt my weariness.
But gradually it grew upon me;my pace lagged slower and slower--even the scented air of the midsummer-night imparted no freshness.John wound his young arm,strong and firm as iron,round my waist,and we got on awhile in that way.
"Keep up,Phineas.There's a hayrick near.I'll wrap you in my coat,and you shall rest there:an hour or two will not matter now--we shall get home by daybreak."
I feebly assented;but it seemed to me that we never should get home--at least I never should.For a short way more,I dragged myself--or rather,was dragged--along;then the stars,the shadowy fields,and the winding,white high-road mingled and faded from me.I lost all consciousness.
When I came to myself I was lying by a tiny brook at the roadside,my head resting on John's knees.He was bathing my forehead:I could not see him,but I heard his smothered moan.
"David,don't mind.I shall be well directly.""Oh!Phineas--Phineas;I thought I had killed you."He said no more;but I fancied that under cover of the night he yielded to what his manhood might have been ashamed of--yet need not--a few tears.
I tried to rise.There was a faint streak in the east."Why,it is daybreak!How far are we from Norton Bury?""Not very far.Don't stir a step.I shall carry you.""Impossible!"
"Nonsense;I have done it for half-a-mile already.Come,mount!Iam not going to have Jonathan's death laid at David's door."And so,masking command with a jest,he had his way.What strength supported him I cannot tell,but he certainly carried me--with many rests between,and pauses,during which I walked a quarter of a mile or so--the whole way to Norton Bury.
The light broadened and broadened.When we reached my father's door,haggard and miserable,it was in the pale sunshine of a summer morning.
"Thank God!"murmured John,as he set me down at the foot of the steps."You are safe at home.""And you.You will come in--you would not leave me now?"He thought a moment--then said,"No!"
We looked up doubtfully at the house;there were no watchers there.
All the windows were closed,as if the whole peaceful establishment were taking its sleep,prior to the early stirring of Norton Bury households.Even John's loud knocking was some time before it was answered.
I was too exhausted to feel much;but I know those five awful minutes seemed interminable.I could not have borne them,save for John's voice in my ear.
"Courage!I'll bear all the blame.We have committed no absolute sin,and have paid dearly for any folly.Courage!"At the five minutes'end my father opened the door.He was dressed as usual,looked as usual.Whether he had sat up watching,or had suffered any anxiety,I never found out.
