e trial; even before the boy's letter to Nedda had been
written. He must surely have heard of it since and given up his mad
idea! He leaned over, touched John on the knee, and handed him the
paper. John read the paragraph, handed it back; and the two brothers
stared fixedly at each other. Then Felix made the faintest movement of
his head toward his daughter, and John nodded. Crossing to Nedda, Felix
hooked his arm in hers and said:

"Just look at this, my child."

Nedda read, started to her feet, sank back, and cried out:

"Poor, poor man! Oh, Dad! Poor man!"

Felix felt ashamed. Though Tryst's death meant so much relief to her,
she felt first this rush of compassion; he himself, to whom it meant so
much less relief, had felt only that relief.

"He said he couldn't stand it; he told me that. But I never thought--Oh!
Poor man!" And, burying her face against his arm, she gave way.

Petrified, and conscious that John at the far end of the carriage was
breathing rather hard, Felix could only stroke her arm till at last she
whispered:

"There's nobody now for Derek to save. Oh, if you'd seen that poor man
in prison, Dad!"

And the only words of comfort Felix could find were:

"My child, there are thousands and thousands of poor prisoners and
captives!"

In a truce to agitation they spent the rest of that three hours' journey,
while the train rattled and rumbled through the quiet, happy-looking
land.

CHAPTER XXXV

It was tea-time when they reached Worcester, and at once went up to the
Royal Charles Hostel. A pretty young woman in the office there informed
them that the young gentleman had paid his bill and gone out about ten
o'clock; but had left his luggage. She had not seen him come in. His
room was up that little staircase at the end of the passage. There was
another entrance that he might have come in at. The 'Boots' would take
them.

Past the hall stuffed with furniture and decorated with the stags' heads
and battle-prints common to English county-town hotels, they followed the
'Boots' up five red-carpeted steps, down a dingy green corridor, to a
door at the very end. There was no answer to their knock. The dark
little room, with striped walls, and more battle-prints, looked out on a
side street and smelled dusty. On a shiny leather sofa an old valise,
strapped-up ready for departure, was reposing with Felix's telegram,
unopened, deposited thereon. Writing on his card, "Have com