But his adventures were not quite over for the morning; for, as he went back, he became aware that far off to the right, just where the spinney came creeping down to the common, there were two persons walking—a man and a boy. He could see them quite plainly; and though they were so far off, his eyes, accustomed in the past to be used on the sweeping plains, where safety, and even life, may depend upon keen sight, distinguished the boy as his former chum, Charlton—Charlton and a man—who but his father? And again came the thought, in spite of all the reasoning which Mr. St. Clive had used—was there any connexion between that man, the tracks of the lame horse, and his own dear father's disappearance?
Very slowly did Ralph return to his benefactor's house. He was restless, anxious; all the stormy feelings seemed to have returned. And all this had come through the loss of his pocket-book!
That Sunday was a hard one for Ralph. Even the quiet church, with its solemn service, its sweet music, and its glorious coloured windows, did not seem quite the same to-day. It was as though Satan was combating with him, whispering that it was no use striving to go Christ's way—that the road was too hard and the service too ill-paid—that it was far better to give up trying to be noble and good and just be as other boys were—as Dobson and Elgert, and that sort.
Indeed, the temptation came that it was just downright silly to go to school at all, when he could go back to his old life and live in all the wild freedom of the plains. So Ralph was tempted; and it seemed as if he could get no good from the day at all—as if all striving to do so were in vain—and as if he would have been just as well if he had stopped away from church altogether.
Even Irene did not seem able to cheer him up. Despairing thoughts, dark thoughts, doubting thoughts—one after another they came; for Ralph was like Christian in Pilgrim's Progress—he was in the dark valley, and all manner of evil things seemed to assail him as he journeyed.
Perhaps Mr. St. Clive understood—he seemed to understand most things—for that night, when the family knelt at prayers together, he prayed especially for all who had special grief to bear and special temptations to endure; and somehow that prayer seemed to do Ralph more good than anything else had done. It seemed to pull him up, and to tell him that, let him be tempted as he might, conquest was possible if the temptation was met in the strength which comes through prayer.
Monday morning came at last—the first Monday morning when he had really felt anxious to get back to school; and off he set, promising to write to his friends and let them know whether the pocket-book was safe at the school in the pocket of his other coat.
He met Warren on the road, and the monitor asked him if the book was found; but Ralph shook his head in token that it was still missing.
The school was reached at last, and Ralph hurried across the playground and darted up to the dormitory. His coat was in his box. He felt in the pocket; the book was there—safe! There had been no need to worry! He had left it behind him, and it had been safe all the time!