It was easy for Seabrooke to see, as it had been from the first, in
which direction the current of opinion tended, and not caring to talk
further upon the subject, he withdrew to the shelter of his own
alcove.
Charlie Henderson, in the solitary dormitory, lay quiet and
undisturbed, until, having nearly slept off his headache, he woke
with the delightful sense of relief and peace which comes after the
cessation of severe pain. He lay still, however, feeling languid, and
waiting till some one should come whom he could ask for the cup of
strong coffee which was always needed to perfect his cure, and
thinking happily of home and the pleasure he anticipated in the
holidays just at hand.
At last Mrs. Moffat put her head into the room. "Ah, Master
Henderson, my dear," she said, at once appreciating the change in the
situation, "so you're better. That's a dear boy"--as though it were
highly meritorious in Charlie to have allowed himself to feel better.
"Well, now, you must have your cup of coffee to tone you up for your
trip. You lie still, while I see about it. There's lots of time yet,
and I'm not going to send you home faint and miserable to your
mother, and have her say there's nobody at Sylvandale Academy to look
after her head-ache-y boy."
And she was gone, while Charlie, nothing loth, obeyed orders and lay
almost motionless.
Suddenly quick footsteps came along the hall, and the door of the
room, which Mrs.
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