But he seemed evidently in no humour for pursuing it.
In due time all was quiet once more, and then, just as I was beginning to feel drowsy, and was lying half awake, half asleep, fancying myself back again at Stonebridge House in the old dormitory, I felt a hand on my arm and heard Jack's voice whisper, "Fred, are you asleep ?" "No," I replied, moving over to make room for him as he slipped in beside me.
"Fred," he whispered, "I'm afraid you think me a brute." "No, I don't," replied I, astonished; "why ever should I ?" "Why, I offended you just now, when you meant to be kind." "No you didn't," said I.

"I know there are some things you don't like to talk about, and I--I've no right to ask you about them." Jack lay silent for some minutes.

Then he whispered-- "Old man, you can keep a secret, can't you ?" "Yes," I said, wondering what was coming.
"I've never told it to anybody yet; but somehow it's awful having no one to talk to," he said.
"What is it, Jack ?" I asked.

"I won't tell a soul." He crept closer to me, and his voice dropped to a lower whisper as he said, "Fred--_my father is a convict_!" I was too bewildered and shocked to speak.

All I could do was to take the hand which lay on my arm and hold it in mine.