I shall be back in
a few moments."
It was hardly dusk then.
Aunt Patty, as usual after school on Friday, had swept the room and put
down the dark and dingy paper curtains.
I opened the door and stood an instant looking into the gloom before
entering. Then I saw that there was some one sitting in my chair--a man
with his head bent forward and buried in his arms, which were folded on
the desk.
It was Mr. Rollin, and before I had time to retreat, he lifted his head
and saw me standing at the door.
I had expected that the first revelation of that glance would contain
something of grief, wretchedness, remorse. The fisherman's countenance
wore a shadow of annoyance, but it was expressive, above all, of a
childish petulance and irritation.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, speaking with the utmost abruptness, and rising from
the chair; "if you had only left this place at the end of the first term,
it would have saved the whole of this abominable misadventure!"
"I don't think I understand you," I said, freezing now in sober earnest.
"Because in your eyes only, it is a misadventure," he continued rapidly,
with growing excitement. "You came to this miserable hole--this
Wallencamp--resolved to view everything in a new light--the light of
unselfish devotion to great ends, and exalted aspiration, and ideal
perfection, and all that.
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