CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Immediately, I went over to him, and grabbed his arms. I wanted to keep him facing me, for just moments before, out the window, appeared the figure of Peter Quint. He had been approaching the house while we were speaking, and now, he was standing just outside the window. His face looked as white and as evil as ever. I had to keep the boy from seeing him. The fight was now between me and the ghost outside. I had to protect Miles, and this was the only way I could. All that he had to do was tell me everything, and he would be saved. I could see on his forehead that the boy was now sweating. His face was the same color as Quint's, a terrible white. And then I heard something come from deep down inside the boy's throat.

"I did take your letter."

When I heard this, I pulled him closer to me and put my arms around him. His heart was beating very loudly and quickly. The whole time I held him, I never once moved my eyes away from the man in the window. For a quick moment, Peter Quint looked weaker than me. My courage then grew much greater. The man remained in the window, his eyes fixed on the boy and me.

"Why did you do it?" I asked the boy.

"I wanted to read it to see if you said anything bad about me."

"Did you read it?"

"Yes, I did."

I could see on his face that he knew something was there with us. However, he did not know exactly what that something was. I then looked back toward the window, and was happy to see the Quint was no longer there. I felt that I was more powerful suddenly and there was nothing that could prevent me from saving Miles. "And what did you find in the letter? What did I say about you?"

"You said nothing at all about me. Nothing at all."

I held him tighter and kissed his face. He was covered in sweat. "Where is the letter now?"

"It's gone. I destroyed it in the fire."

"In the fire?" I decided to take this further. "Did you do the same thing at your school?"

"What?"

"Letters. Did you steal letters or anything else?"

He seemed to be trying to remember. Eventually, his memory did come back. "Are you really asking me if I stole things?"

I felt ashamed to be accusing such a beautiful, well-behaved boy of such things. "Is that why you couldn't return?"

"You knew I couldn't return to the school?"

"Yes, I know much more than you think."

"Much more?"

"Much more. Now, tell me what exactly happened there?"

"I did not take anything from anyone."

"But you must have done something!"

His eyes searched the ceiling of the dining room, and he took a deep breath. "I ... I said something upsetting."

"That's it?"

"It made the school masters angry."

"But is that a good enough reason to dismiss you from the school?"

"I did not think it was serious enough, but I don't know."

"Whom did you say these things to?"

He tried to think for a moment, but the memory did not seem to come back to him. "I can't remember."

I should have stopped there, but I was feeling so powerful, so successful, that I could not prevent myself from asking more questions.

"Try to remember whom you said these things to."

"I ... " Something was preventing him from remembering. "I can't. I just know that I told my friends."

His dismissal now became even stranger to me. Then the idea suddenly came into my head that he might not have done anything wrong. If that were true, then I would feel guilty for having doubted him.

I let it go of his arms then. His eyes once again returned to the empty window. "Did your friends tell other people what you said to them?"

His nervousness seemed to grow as he looked outside at the gray sky. "Yes. I suppose they told others. I suppose they told their friends."

"And eventually the leaders of the school heard, as well."

"Yes," He said turning back around to face me. "They found out. I guess, now that I think about it, what I said was quite terrible."

"Please, Miles, tell me what you said!"

I then ran over to him and took hold of his arms, for the horrible image of Peter Quint had once again returned to the window. I could see in the boy's eyes, that he understood what was happening. I shouted at the face in the window, "Get out of here!"

"Are you speaking to her?" asked Miles nervously. "Is it Miss Jessel?"

I was shocked to hear him refer to the woman. I answered, "No. It's not her! It's something else! It stands at the window, powerless and with no courage. It appears before us now, but it will never appear again!"

The boy became extremely anxious. His face turned white with anger and confusion. "Do you mean that he is here?"

"Who is 'he'?" I asked, looking coldly into the boy's eyes.

I could still hear his voice as he said, "Peter Quint! ... Where is he?" He looked wildly in every corner of the room.

"So what if he's here now? He's not important anymore. We have each other now. He has nothing. He is powerless. Look! He is standing there at the window. Look at him!"

When I turned toward Miles, he was already looking at the window. However, I could tell that he could see nothing there. And suddenly, he let out a terrible scream as his body fell toward the ground. I managed to catch him. I looked at him there in my arms. The room was silent and so was his poor little heart. I had lost him.

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