He took Ronnie back to his own quarters, but on
the threshold Ronnie drew back.
"I can't come in with you," he said.
Baring's hand was on his shoulder.
"You must," he answered quietly.
"I can't," Ronnie persisted, with an effort. "I can't! I'm a cur; I'm
worse. You wouldn't ask me if you knew."
Baring paused, then, with a strange, unwonted gentleness, he took the
boy's arm and led him in. "Never mind!" he said.
Ronnie went with him, but in Baring's room he faced him with the courage
of despair.
"You'll have to know it," he said jerkily. "It was my doing that
you--and she--parted as you did. She was going to tell you the truth. I
prevented her--for my own sake--not hers. I--I came between you."
Baring's hand fell, but neither his face nor his tone varied as he made
steady reply.
"I guessed it might be that--afterwards. I was on my way to tell her so
when the dam went."
"That isn't all," Ronnie went on feverishly. "I'm worse than that, worse
even than she knew. I engaged to ride Hyde's horse to--to discharge a
debt I owed him. I told her it was a debt of honour. It wasn't. It was
to cover theft. I swindled him once, and he found out.
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