Mrs. Blyth was doubtless not overwell satisfied with
the cool manner in which her invitation had been received.
In his present condition of spirits, Zack's conscience upbraided him
soundly for having thought of deceiving Valentine by keeping him in
ignorance of what had happened. Now that Mat seemed, by his long
absence, to have deserted Kirk Street for ever, there was a double
attraction and hope for the weary and heart-sick Zack in the prospect
of seeing the painter's genial face by his bedside. To this oldest,
kindest, and most merciful of friends, therefore, he determined to
confess, what he dare not so much as hint to his own father.
The note which, by the assistance of the tobacconist's wife, he now
addressed to Valentine, was as characteristically boyish, and even
childish in tone, as the note which he had sent to his father. It ran
thus:
"MY DEAR BLYTH,--I begin to wish I had never been born; for I have got
into another scrape--having been knocked on the head by a prize-fighter
with a cheese-plate. It was wrong in me to go where I did, I know. But
I went to Mr. Strather, just as you told me, and stuck to my drawing--I
did indeed! Pray do come, as soon as ever you get back--I send this
letter to make sure of getting you at once.
Pages:
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625