Chapter Seven.

Chapter Seven.What a day for Jonah!The six months which followed Jeffreys’ introduction into the classical atmosphere of Galloway House passed uneventfully for him, and not altogether unpleasantly. He had, it is true, the vision of young Forrester always in his mind, to drag him down, whenever he dwelt upon it, into the bitterest dejection; and he had the active spite and insolence of Jonah Trimble daily to try his temper and tax his patience.Otherwise he was comfortable. Mrs Trimble, finding him steady and quiet, treated him kindly when she had her own way, and indifferently when her son was with her. The boys of the second class maintained the mysterious respect they had conceived for him on the day of his arrival, and gave him wonderfully little trouble or difficulty.He had his evenings for the most part to himself, and even succeeded, after something like a battle-royal with the Trimbles, in carrying his point of having one “evening out” in the week. It nearly cost him his situation, and it nearly cost Jonah a bone-shaking before the question was settled. But Jeffreys could be stubborn when he chose, and stood out grimly on this point. Had it not been for this weekly respite, Galloway House would have become intolerable before a month was over.He heard occasionally from Mr Frampton; but the one question which would have interested him most was generally passed over. Mr Frampton probably considered that any reference to Forrester would be painful to his correspondent, and therefore avoided it. At last, however, in reply to Jeffreys’ entreaty to know where the boy was and how he was progressing, the head-master wrote:—“I really cannot tell you what you want to know about Forrester, as I have heard nothing of him. His father, as you know, is an officer in India, and his only relative in England was his grandmother, to whose house at Grangerham he was removed on leaving here. The last I heard was a month after he had left here, when he was reported still to be lingering. His grandmother, so I heard, was very ill. He himself, as a last hope, was to be removed to a hospital (I could not hear which) to receive special treatment. Since then—which is five months ago—I have heard nothing, and my last letter to Grangerham was returned by the Dead-Letter Office. I wish I could tell you more. You may depend on my doing so should I hear of him again,” etc.It is hardly to be wondered at after this that poor Jeffreys felt the weight upon him heavier than ever. As long as he had known where Forrester was, and had the hope of hearing from time to time how he fared, he had been able to buoy himself up with the hope of some day making up to his victim for the injury he had inflicted; but when, suddenly, Forrester dropped hopelessly out of his life, the burden of his conscience grew intolerable.He struggled hard, by devoting himself to his boys and by hard private study in his leisure hours, to drive the haunting memory away, but the effort succeeded only for a time. At night, as he lay in bed, unable to escape from himself, the vision of that pale face and that cry of terror hardly once left him till merciful sleep came to his rescue. And by day, when his small pupils vexed him, or the spiteful Jonah tempted him to revenge, the thought of Forrester cowed him into submission, and left him no choice but to endure what seemed to be his penance.“Ma,” said Mrs Trimble’s hopeful, one afternoon after school had closed, “you’ve been nicely taken in over that Jeffreys, I can tell you.”“What!” said the lady. “He doesn’t drink, does he?”“Don’t know. But there’s something queer about him, and I mean to find it out. I’m not going to let it go on, I can tell you.”“Why, what’s he been doing, Jonah?”“Doing? You must go about with your eyes shut if you don’t see he’s been sulking ever since he came here. I tell you there’s something wrong.”“Oh, don’t say that, Jonah.”“You never took a character with him, did you?”“No; he hadn’t been in a place before.”“Depend on it, ma, he’s skulking. He’s done something, and finds this a convenient place to hide away in.”“But, Jonah, he’s never shown any signs of not being all right. He’s very kind to the boys, and keeps them in wonderful order, better than you do almost.”Jonah did not like this, because he knew it was true. His boys were neither fond of him nor obedient to his control, and the fact that Jeffreys’ boys were both was additional proof that there was something wrong.“Do you suppose he can’t manage to take you in, ma? Of course, any one could.”“But he makes himself very pleasant, and studies, and keeps very quiet out of school.”“Of course. Isn’t that what I tell you? He’s hiding. What do you suppose he skulks away into town for once a week—eh?”“Not to drink, I do hope?” said the lady.“Whatever it is, I mean to get to the bottom of it, for the sake of the school,” said Jonah. “Fancy the mess we’d get into if it got known we had a shady character here as a teacher!”“But, Jonah, dear, it’s only suspicion. He may be all right.”“Oh, anythingmaybe,” retorted the philosophic Jonah. “The thing is—is it?”As Mrs Trimble was unable to answer this question, she retired from the discussion, and hoped devoutly nothing was going to happen which would necessitate her doing more work about the school than she at present did.The unconscious Jeffreys meanwhile was upstairs, washing himself before starting for his weekly “evening out.” He had more than usual before him on this particular evening, as, besides calling at the post-office—an errand he never missed—he had discovered another old bookshop across the river which kept open till seven o’clock. And after that he had promised Freddy and Teddy, with whom from the first he had kept up a warm friendship, to call up at their house and help them mend their tricycle. With this full programme before him, he lost no time in starting on his travels; little dreaming that the quick pace at which he strode along gave unwonted exercise to Mr Jonah Trimble, who, animated by an amiable curiosity, dogged his footsteps at a respectful distance.It was about five o’clock when Jeffreys reached the post-office. The clerk knew him by this time, and this evening handed him a letter without being asked. It was a short friendly line from Mr Frampton with no news—at any rate about Forrester; and Trimble, as he watched him emerge from the office, letter in hand, and haggard in face, chalked down in in his own mind a first clue as to the mystery that was exercising him.From the post-office Jeffreys strolled leisurely down the streets toward the bridge, stopping to look into some of the shops by the way, and occasionally making Trimble’s heart jump by looking behind him.In due time he pulled up at the bookseller’s shop. Trimble saw the proprietor welcome his visitor with a nod which bespoke an acquaintance of some standing. He saw Jeffreys turning over the contents of some of the trays, taking up a book now and then and examining it, and sometimes propping himself up against the doorpost and reading page after page. It was not very entertaining work for the spy; but curiosity is patient, and Jonah as he watched the unconscious reader at a safe distance fortified himself by the conviction that he was watching the working-out of some deep-laid plot.Presently he saw Jeffreys disappear into the shop, and what was his amazement, when presently he “casually” passed the door, to see him seated with the bookseller at a table earnestly poring over and discussing a small faded sheet of paper which lay between them! Trimble would have given worlds to know what the mysterious document was, and what villainy was brewing. Had he known it, he might not have stood out there in the evening air quite as patiently as he did. For the mysterious document happened to be nothing but an old tattered and torn Commonwealth tract which Jeffreys had discovered folded up between the leaves of an ancient volume of poetry, and which he and his friend the bookseller were spending a very agreeable half-hour in piecing together and deciphering.About seven o’clock Jeffreys rose to go, pocketing the precious relic, which his friend had given him; and Trimble, having carefully noted down the name of the shop and the personal appearance of the suspicious bookseller, followed gingerly back across the bridge. The streets were getting less crowded, and Jonah had increasing difficulty in keeping himself concealed as he crawled along on the opposite side of the way some thirty or forty yards in the rear of his man.Just as Jeffreys was crossing the space opposite the grand front of the minster a dog sprang forward to meet him with every token of joy. It was Julius, and Jeffreys knew that the master could not be very far away. He turned round for a moment, as though he meditated flight, and gave Jonah a spasm by the unexpected movement. But before he could decide Mr Halgrove strolled pleasantly round the corner, and nodded to him as if he and his ward had not parted five minutes before.“Ah, John, fine evening for a stroll. On your way home?”Mr Halgrove till that moment had not had the faintest idea that his ward was still in York.“No,” said Jeffreys, patting the dog’s head and looking very much the reverse of comfortable.“They say the front of the minster is beginning to crumble at places,” said Mr Halgrove, looking up at the noble pile before them; “I hope it’s not true. Are you much here?”“No. I live in another part of the town.”“Very odd my meeting you,” said Mr Halgrove. “I was thinking of you only to-day. I had a letter from Mr Frampton.”“Indeed, sir—about Forrester?”“About—oh, your little victim? Oddly enough, it was not. It was to remind me that your last half-term’s fees were not paid. Don’t you think it would be judicious to clear up this little score? Looks bad, you know—to run away with score against you.”Jeffrey’s face turned pale. He had at least supposed that up to the time of his expulsion from his guardian’s house Mr Halgrove would have considered himself responsible for his maintenance.“I never dreamt,” he faltered. “How much is it?”“Quite a little sum, isn’t it? Come, you were last at school. Too bad to pose me with compound division at my time of life. Half a term at £40 a year?”“Seven pounds!” gasped Jeffreys.“Not quite, £6 13 shillings, 4 pence. Fancy my being better at mental arithmetic than you!”“I haven’t got any money. I only get a pound a month and my board.”“My dear boy, I congratulate you. Twelve pounds a year! Now, wasn’t it a pity you didn’t take that £5 note I offered you? Suppose you take it now!”Mr Halgrove put his hand to his pocket and took out his purse.“No!” exclaimed Jeffreys, in a tone that made Trimble, who was busy engaged in inspecting the architecture of the minster from behind a deep buttress close to the speaker, jump—“I’d sooner die!”“Don’t do that, my dear fellow, don’t do that,” said Mr Halgrove, with a smile which belied the anger he felt at the refusal; “rather than that I’ll keep the money. I have no wish to commit a murder. It’s not in my line. That’s one point in which you and I differ, isn’t it?”Jeffreys made as though he would spring upon him. What was it checked him? Was it the solemn minster—was it a dread of his guardian’s superior strength—was it fear of punishment? Or was it a momentary glimpse of a pale face in a moonlit room far away, which took the spirit out of him and made his arm drop at his side?“Well, I won’t keep you,” said Mr Halgrove, who had also for a moment looked uneasy. “I dare say you are in a hurry like myself. The fact is, I am going a trip to America next week and have a good deal to attend to. That makes me doubly glad to have met you. Good-bye, my dear boy, good-bye. Come, Julius.”Julius as he slunk off at his master’s heels, and heard the smothered oath which escaped Mr Halgrove’s lips as soon as he found himself alone, looked round wistfully and pitifully, and wished he were allowed to go where he pleased.Jeffreys walked on like a man in a dream. For six months he had been working out what had been to him a penance, hoping to live down his bad name, even if he could never win a good.But now in a moment it seemed as if the labour of those patient months had been dashed to the ground, and his guardian’s bitter words branded themselves on his heart as he paced on out of the shadow of the noble minster into the dusk of the city.Trimble, nearly bursting with excitement—for he had overheard all the latter part of the conversation—crept after him. What a time he was having!Jeffreys bent his steps almost aimlessly out of the city into the country beyond. It was only half-past seven, and Teddy and Freddy were expecting him. He had not the heart to fail them, though he would gladly have remained solitary that evening. The Roshers lived in a small cottage some distance down the lane in which six months ago Jeffreys had first encountered the sunshine of their presence. How long ago it seemed now! Ah! that was the very bank on which he sat; and there beyond was the railway embankment at which the navvies were working, now finished and with the grass growing up its sides.Trimble’s little heart jumped to his mouth as he saw the man he was following stop abruptly and begin to climb the bank. He was too close behind to be able to turn back. All he could do was to crouch down in the ditch and “lie low.” He heard Jeffreys as he gained the top of the bank sigh wearily; then he seemed to be moving as if in search of a particular spot; and then the lurker’s hair stood on end as he heard the words, hoarsely spoken,—“It was this very place.”What a day Jonah was having! After a quarter of an hour’s pause, during which the patient Jonah got nearly soaked to the skin in his watery hiding-place, Jeffreys roused himself and descended into the lane. Any one less abstracted could not have failed to detect the scared face of the spy shining out like a white rag from the hedge. But Jeffreys heeded nothing and strode on to Ash Cottage.Long before he got there, Freddy and Teddy, who had been on the look-out for him for an hour, scampered down to meet him.“Hurrah, Jeff!” shouted Teddy (I grieve to say that these irreverent brethren had long ago fallen into the scandalous habit of calling their teacher by a familiar contraction of his proper name, nor had the master rebuked them). “Hurrah, Jeff! we were afraid you weren’t coming.”“The tricycle won’t go,” said Freddy; “we’ve pulled it all to bits, and tried to make it right with a hammer, but it’s very bad.”“It’s glorious you’ve come to do it. Isn’t Jeff a brick, Teddy?”“Rather—and, oh, did you bring any oil? We used all ours up.”“We’ve got a screw-driver, though!” said Freddy.“And lots of string!” shouted Teddy.“Youarea brick to come and do it,” shouted both.Where in the world is there a tonic equal to the laugh of a light-hearted grateful little boy? How could Jeffreys help forgetting his trouble for a time and devoting himself heart and soul to the business of that tricycle? Trimble, as he dodged along after them perplexed and puffing, could hardly believe his eyes as he saw his morose colleague suddenly throw off the burden that was on him and become gay.“Come along, little chaps—let’s see what we can do,” said Jeffreys, as the three strode out to the cottage. “Where is he?”“In the shed. We’ve got a candle.”Trimble saw them disappear into the garden, and, guided by their cheery voices, soon discovered the back of the shed in which the momentous surgical operation was to take place. It backed on the road, and might have been built for Trimble’s purpose. For the woodwork abounded in most convenient cracks, through which a spy might peep and listen luxuriously. What a day Jonah was having!The Roshers conducted their friend into the place like anxious relatives who conduct a physician into a sick-chamber. The poor patient lay on the floor in a very bad way. Two wheels were off, the axle was bent, the wire spokes were twisted, the saddle was off, and the brake was all over the place.Jeffreys shook his head and looked grave.“It’s a bad job,” said he.“You see, we were giving mother a ride on it, and she’s too heavy—especially going downhill. She thought we were holding it, but it got away. We yelled to her to put on the brake, but she didn’t, and it went bang into the wall.”“And your mother?” inquired Jeffreys, somewhat anxiously.“Oh, her face is much better now. The doctor says there’ll be hardly any marks left after all.”It was a long business putting the unlucky tricycle in order. Jeffreys was not a mechanic. All he could do was to put the parts together in a makeshift way, and by straightening some of the bent parts and greasing some of the stiff parts restore the iron horse into a gloomy semblance of his old self.The boys were as grateful and delighted as if he had constructed a new machine out of space; and when at last a trial trip demonstrated that at any rate the wheels would go round and the saddle would carry them, their hearts overflowed.“You are a real brick, Jeff,” said Teddy; “I wish I could give you a hundred pounds!”“I don’t want a hundred pounds,” said Jeffreys, with a smile; “if you and Freddy and I are good friends, that’s worth a lot more to me.”“Why?” demanded Freddy; “are we the only friends you’ve got?”Jeffreys looked out of the window and said,—“Not quite—I’ve got one more.”“Who—God?” asked the boy naturally.Poor Jeffreys! He sometimes forgot that Friend, and it startled and humbled him to hear the little fellow’s simple question.“Of course, he’s got Him,” interposed Teddy, without giving him time to reply. “But who else, Jeff?”“I saw him not long ago,” said Jeffreys. “His name’s Julius.”“You don’t like him more than us, do you?” asked Teddy rather anxiously.“Not a quarter as much, old chap,” said Jeffreys.There was a pause, during which Trimble chuckled to think how little the speaker guessed into whose ears he was betraying the name of his villainous accomplice! Presently, however, he started to hear the sound of his own name.“Jeff,” said Teddy, “isn’t Mr Trimble a beast?”“Let’s talk about something pleasant,” suggested Jeffreys, by way of begging the question.“Let’s talk about hanging him; that would be pleasant,” said Teddy.“Would you be sorry if he was dead?” demanded Teddy, in his matter-of-fact way. “I say, Jeff, wouldn’t it be jolly if we could kill everybody we hated?”“Wouldn’t it be jolly if every little boy who talked like a little donkey were to have his ears boxed?” said Jeffreys.“I wish he’d been on the tricycle instead of mother,” continued Teddy, with a sigh of content at the bare idea.“Teddy, you are not as nice a little boy as I thought when you talk like that,” said Jeffreys. “Come and let’s have one more turn on the machine, and then I must hurry back, or Mrs Trimble will think I’m lost.”Jeffreys got back to Galloway House about ten o’clock, and found Jonah sitting up for him.“So youhavecome back,” said that individual pompously. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your evening out.”“Yes,” said Jeffreys, “pretty well.”“Oh!” said Jonah to himself, as he went up to bed, bursting with excitement. “If he only knew what I know! Let me see—”And then he went over in his mind the events of that wonderful evening, the visit to the post-office and the horrified look as he came out letter in hand; the mysterious conference with the bookseller, doubtless over this very letter. And how artfully he had been pretending to look at the books outside till he saw no one was looking! Then, the secret meeting with his accomplice in the minster yard—Mr Julius, yes, that was the name he had himself told the boys—and the altercation over the money, doubtless the booty of their crime, and Mr Julius’s denunciation of Jeffreys as a murderer! Whew! Then that lonely country walk, and that search on the bank, and that exclamation, “It was this very place!” Whew! Jonah had tied a bit of his bootlace on the hedge just under the spot, and could find it again within a foot. Then the rencontre with the two boys and the strange, enigmatical talk in the shed, pointing to the plot of a new crime of which he—Trimble—was to be the victim. Ha, ha!—and the business over that tricycle too, in the candle-light. Jonah could see through that. He could put a spoke in a wheel as well as Jeffreys.Two things were plain. He must get hold of the letter; and he must visit the scene of the crimewith a spade! Then—Jonah sat up half the night thinking of it, till at last the deep breathing of his colleague in the next room reminded him that now at any rate was the time to get the letter. He had seen Jeffreys crush it into his side pocket after leaving the bookseller’s and he had heard him before getting into bed just now hang his coat on the peg behind the door. And it was hot, and the door was open.What a day Jonah was having!Fortune favours the brave. It was a work of two minutes only. The pocket was there at his hand before he had so much as put a foot in the room. And there was the letter—two letters—and not a board creaked or a footstep sounded before he was safe back in his own room with the documentary evidence before him.There was only one letter after all. The other paper was a rubbishing rigmarole about General Monk and the Parliament 1660. This Jonah tossed contemptuously into the grate. But the other letter, how his flesh crept as he read it! It had no date, and was signed only in initials.“Dear J. There is no news. I can understand your trouble and remorse, and this uncertainty makes it all the more terrible to you. I know it is vain to say to you, ‘Forget,’ but do not write about poor Forrester’s blood being on your head! Your duty is to live and redeem the past. Let the dead bury their dead, dear fellow, and turn your eyes forward, like a brave man. Yours ever, J.F.”Do you wonder if Jonah’s blood curdled in his veins—“remorse,” “uncertainty,” “poor Forrester,” “his blood on your head,” eh? “bury your dead”!Whew!Whata day Jonah had had, to be sure!

The six months which followed Jeffreys’ introduction into the classical atmosphere of Galloway House passed uneventfully for him, and not altogether unpleasantly. He had, it is true, the vision of young Forrester always in his mind, to drag him down, whenever he dwelt upon it, into the bitterest dejection; and he had the active spite and insolence of Jonah Trimble daily to try his temper and tax his patience.

Otherwise he was comfortable. Mrs Trimble, finding him steady and quiet, treated him kindly when she had her own way, and indifferently when her son was with her. The boys of the second class maintained the mysterious respect they had conceived for him on the day of his arrival, and gave him wonderfully little trouble or difficulty.

He had his evenings for the most part to himself, and even succeeded, after something like a battle-royal with the Trimbles, in carrying his point of having one “evening out” in the week. It nearly cost him his situation, and it nearly cost Jonah a bone-shaking before the question was settled. But Jeffreys could be stubborn when he chose, and stood out grimly on this point. Had it not been for this weekly respite, Galloway House would have become intolerable before a month was over.

He heard occasionally from Mr Frampton; but the one question which would have interested him most was generally passed over. Mr Frampton probably considered that any reference to Forrester would be painful to his correspondent, and therefore avoided it. At last, however, in reply to Jeffreys’ entreaty to know where the boy was and how he was progressing, the head-master wrote:—

“I really cannot tell you what you want to know about Forrester, as I have heard nothing of him. His father, as you know, is an officer in India, and his only relative in England was his grandmother, to whose house at Grangerham he was removed on leaving here. The last I heard was a month after he had left here, when he was reported still to be lingering. His grandmother, so I heard, was very ill. He himself, as a last hope, was to be removed to a hospital (I could not hear which) to receive special treatment. Since then—which is five months ago—I have heard nothing, and my last letter to Grangerham was returned by the Dead-Letter Office. I wish I could tell you more. You may depend on my doing so should I hear of him again,” etc.

It is hardly to be wondered at after this that poor Jeffreys felt the weight upon him heavier than ever. As long as he had known where Forrester was, and had the hope of hearing from time to time how he fared, he had been able to buoy himself up with the hope of some day making up to his victim for the injury he had inflicted; but when, suddenly, Forrester dropped hopelessly out of his life, the burden of his conscience grew intolerable.

He struggled hard, by devoting himself to his boys and by hard private study in his leisure hours, to drive the haunting memory away, but the effort succeeded only for a time. At night, as he lay in bed, unable to escape from himself, the vision of that pale face and that cry of terror hardly once left him till merciful sleep came to his rescue. And by day, when his small pupils vexed him, or the spiteful Jonah tempted him to revenge, the thought of Forrester cowed him into submission, and left him no choice but to endure what seemed to be his penance.

“Ma,” said Mrs Trimble’s hopeful, one afternoon after school had closed, “you’ve been nicely taken in over that Jeffreys, I can tell you.”

“What!” said the lady. “He doesn’t drink, does he?”

“Don’t know. But there’s something queer about him, and I mean to find it out. I’m not going to let it go on, I can tell you.”

“Why, what’s he been doing, Jonah?”

“Doing? You must go about with your eyes shut if you don’t see he’s been sulking ever since he came here. I tell you there’s something wrong.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Jonah.”

“You never took a character with him, did you?”

“No; he hadn’t been in a place before.”

“Depend on it, ma, he’s skulking. He’s done something, and finds this a convenient place to hide away in.”

“But, Jonah, he’s never shown any signs of not being all right. He’s very kind to the boys, and keeps them in wonderful order, better than you do almost.”

Jonah did not like this, because he knew it was true. His boys were neither fond of him nor obedient to his control, and the fact that Jeffreys’ boys were both was additional proof that there was something wrong.

“Do you suppose he can’t manage to take you in, ma? Of course, any one could.”

“But he makes himself very pleasant, and studies, and keeps very quiet out of school.”

“Of course. Isn’t that what I tell you? He’s hiding. What do you suppose he skulks away into town for once a week—eh?”

“Not to drink, I do hope?” said the lady.

“Whatever it is, I mean to get to the bottom of it, for the sake of the school,” said Jonah. “Fancy the mess we’d get into if it got known we had a shady character here as a teacher!”

“But, Jonah, dear, it’s only suspicion. He may be all right.”

“Oh, anythingmaybe,” retorted the philosophic Jonah. “The thing is—is it?”

As Mrs Trimble was unable to answer this question, she retired from the discussion, and hoped devoutly nothing was going to happen which would necessitate her doing more work about the school than she at present did.

The unconscious Jeffreys meanwhile was upstairs, washing himself before starting for his weekly “evening out.” He had more than usual before him on this particular evening, as, besides calling at the post-office—an errand he never missed—he had discovered another old bookshop across the river which kept open till seven o’clock. And after that he had promised Freddy and Teddy, with whom from the first he had kept up a warm friendship, to call up at their house and help them mend their tricycle. With this full programme before him, he lost no time in starting on his travels; little dreaming that the quick pace at which he strode along gave unwonted exercise to Mr Jonah Trimble, who, animated by an amiable curiosity, dogged his footsteps at a respectful distance.

It was about five o’clock when Jeffreys reached the post-office. The clerk knew him by this time, and this evening handed him a letter without being asked. It was a short friendly line from Mr Frampton with no news—at any rate about Forrester; and Trimble, as he watched him emerge from the office, letter in hand, and haggard in face, chalked down in in his own mind a first clue as to the mystery that was exercising him.

From the post-office Jeffreys strolled leisurely down the streets toward the bridge, stopping to look into some of the shops by the way, and occasionally making Trimble’s heart jump by looking behind him.

In due time he pulled up at the bookseller’s shop. Trimble saw the proprietor welcome his visitor with a nod which bespoke an acquaintance of some standing. He saw Jeffreys turning over the contents of some of the trays, taking up a book now and then and examining it, and sometimes propping himself up against the doorpost and reading page after page. It was not very entertaining work for the spy; but curiosity is patient, and Jonah as he watched the unconscious reader at a safe distance fortified himself by the conviction that he was watching the working-out of some deep-laid plot.

Presently he saw Jeffreys disappear into the shop, and what was his amazement, when presently he “casually” passed the door, to see him seated with the bookseller at a table earnestly poring over and discussing a small faded sheet of paper which lay between them! Trimble would have given worlds to know what the mysterious document was, and what villainy was brewing. Had he known it, he might not have stood out there in the evening air quite as patiently as he did. For the mysterious document happened to be nothing but an old tattered and torn Commonwealth tract which Jeffreys had discovered folded up between the leaves of an ancient volume of poetry, and which he and his friend the bookseller were spending a very agreeable half-hour in piecing together and deciphering.

About seven o’clock Jeffreys rose to go, pocketing the precious relic, which his friend had given him; and Trimble, having carefully noted down the name of the shop and the personal appearance of the suspicious bookseller, followed gingerly back across the bridge. The streets were getting less crowded, and Jonah had increasing difficulty in keeping himself concealed as he crawled along on the opposite side of the way some thirty or forty yards in the rear of his man.

Just as Jeffreys was crossing the space opposite the grand front of the minster a dog sprang forward to meet him with every token of joy. It was Julius, and Jeffreys knew that the master could not be very far away. He turned round for a moment, as though he meditated flight, and gave Jonah a spasm by the unexpected movement. But before he could decide Mr Halgrove strolled pleasantly round the corner, and nodded to him as if he and his ward had not parted five minutes before.

“Ah, John, fine evening for a stroll. On your way home?”

Mr Halgrove till that moment had not had the faintest idea that his ward was still in York.

“No,” said Jeffreys, patting the dog’s head and looking very much the reverse of comfortable.

“They say the front of the minster is beginning to crumble at places,” said Mr Halgrove, looking up at the noble pile before them; “I hope it’s not true. Are you much here?”

“No. I live in another part of the town.”

“Very odd my meeting you,” said Mr Halgrove. “I was thinking of you only to-day. I had a letter from Mr Frampton.”

“Indeed, sir—about Forrester?”

“About—oh, your little victim? Oddly enough, it was not. It was to remind me that your last half-term’s fees were not paid. Don’t you think it would be judicious to clear up this little score? Looks bad, you know—to run away with score against you.”

Jeffrey’s face turned pale. He had at least supposed that up to the time of his expulsion from his guardian’s house Mr Halgrove would have considered himself responsible for his maintenance.

“I never dreamt,” he faltered. “How much is it?”

“Quite a little sum, isn’t it? Come, you were last at school. Too bad to pose me with compound division at my time of life. Half a term at £40 a year?”

“Seven pounds!” gasped Jeffreys.

“Not quite, £6 13 shillings, 4 pence. Fancy my being better at mental arithmetic than you!”

“I haven’t got any money. I only get a pound a month and my board.”

“My dear boy, I congratulate you. Twelve pounds a year! Now, wasn’t it a pity you didn’t take that £5 note I offered you? Suppose you take it now!”

Mr Halgrove put his hand to his pocket and took out his purse.

“No!” exclaimed Jeffreys, in a tone that made Trimble, who was busy engaged in inspecting the architecture of the minster from behind a deep buttress close to the speaker, jump—“I’d sooner die!”

“Don’t do that, my dear fellow, don’t do that,” said Mr Halgrove, with a smile which belied the anger he felt at the refusal; “rather than that I’ll keep the money. I have no wish to commit a murder. It’s not in my line. That’s one point in which you and I differ, isn’t it?”

Jeffreys made as though he would spring upon him. What was it checked him? Was it the solemn minster—was it a dread of his guardian’s superior strength—was it fear of punishment? Or was it a momentary glimpse of a pale face in a moonlit room far away, which took the spirit out of him and made his arm drop at his side?

“Well, I won’t keep you,” said Mr Halgrove, who had also for a moment looked uneasy. “I dare say you are in a hurry like myself. The fact is, I am going a trip to America next week and have a good deal to attend to. That makes me doubly glad to have met you. Good-bye, my dear boy, good-bye. Come, Julius.”

Julius as he slunk off at his master’s heels, and heard the smothered oath which escaped Mr Halgrove’s lips as soon as he found himself alone, looked round wistfully and pitifully, and wished he were allowed to go where he pleased.

Jeffreys walked on like a man in a dream. For six months he had been working out what had been to him a penance, hoping to live down his bad name, even if he could never win a good.

But now in a moment it seemed as if the labour of those patient months had been dashed to the ground, and his guardian’s bitter words branded themselves on his heart as he paced on out of the shadow of the noble minster into the dusk of the city.

Trimble, nearly bursting with excitement—for he had overheard all the latter part of the conversation—crept after him. What a time he was having!

Jeffreys bent his steps almost aimlessly out of the city into the country beyond. It was only half-past seven, and Teddy and Freddy were expecting him. He had not the heart to fail them, though he would gladly have remained solitary that evening. The Roshers lived in a small cottage some distance down the lane in which six months ago Jeffreys had first encountered the sunshine of their presence. How long ago it seemed now! Ah! that was the very bank on which he sat; and there beyond was the railway embankment at which the navvies were working, now finished and with the grass growing up its sides.

Trimble’s little heart jumped to his mouth as he saw the man he was following stop abruptly and begin to climb the bank. He was too close behind to be able to turn back. All he could do was to crouch down in the ditch and “lie low.” He heard Jeffreys as he gained the top of the bank sigh wearily; then he seemed to be moving as if in search of a particular spot; and then the lurker’s hair stood on end as he heard the words, hoarsely spoken,—

“It was this very place.”

What a day Jonah was having! After a quarter of an hour’s pause, during which the patient Jonah got nearly soaked to the skin in his watery hiding-place, Jeffreys roused himself and descended into the lane. Any one less abstracted could not have failed to detect the scared face of the spy shining out like a white rag from the hedge. But Jeffreys heeded nothing and strode on to Ash Cottage.

Long before he got there, Freddy and Teddy, who had been on the look-out for him for an hour, scampered down to meet him.

“Hurrah, Jeff!” shouted Teddy (I grieve to say that these irreverent brethren had long ago fallen into the scandalous habit of calling their teacher by a familiar contraction of his proper name, nor had the master rebuked them). “Hurrah, Jeff! we were afraid you weren’t coming.”

“The tricycle won’t go,” said Freddy; “we’ve pulled it all to bits, and tried to make it right with a hammer, but it’s very bad.”

“It’s glorious you’ve come to do it. Isn’t Jeff a brick, Teddy?”

“Rather—and, oh, did you bring any oil? We used all ours up.”

“We’ve got a screw-driver, though!” said Freddy.

“And lots of string!” shouted Teddy.

“Youarea brick to come and do it,” shouted both.

Where in the world is there a tonic equal to the laugh of a light-hearted grateful little boy? How could Jeffreys help forgetting his trouble for a time and devoting himself heart and soul to the business of that tricycle? Trimble, as he dodged along after them perplexed and puffing, could hardly believe his eyes as he saw his morose colleague suddenly throw off the burden that was on him and become gay.

“Come along, little chaps—let’s see what we can do,” said Jeffreys, as the three strode out to the cottage. “Where is he?”

“In the shed. We’ve got a candle.”

Trimble saw them disappear into the garden, and, guided by their cheery voices, soon discovered the back of the shed in which the momentous surgical operation was to take place. It backed on the road, and might have been built for Trimble’s purpose. For the woodwork abounded in most convenient cracks, through which a spy might peep and listen luxuriously. What a day Jonah was having!

The Roshers conducted their friend into the place like anxious relatives who conduct a physician into a sick-chamber. The poor patient lay on the floor in a very bad way. Two wheels were off, the axle was bent, the wire spokes were twisted, the saddle was off, and the brake was all over the place.

Jeffreys shook his head and looked grave.

“It’s a bad job,” said he.

“You see, we were giving mother a ride on it, and she’s too heavy—especially going downhill. She thought we were holding it, but it got away. We yelled to her to put on the brake, but she didn’t, and it went bang into the wall.”

“And your mother?” inquired Jeffreys, somewhat anxiously.

“Oh, her face is much better now. The doctor says there’ll be hardly any marks left after all.”

It was a long business putting the unlucky tricycle in order. Jeffreys was not a mechanic. All he could do was to put the parts together in a makeshift way, and by straightening some of the bent parts and greasing some of the stiff parts restore the iron horse into a gloomy semblance of his old self.

The boys were as grateful and delighted as if he had constructed a new machine out of space; and when at last a trial trip demonstrated that at any rate the wheels would go round and the saddle would carry them, their hearts overflowed.

“You are a real brick, Jeff,” said Teddy; “I wish I could give you a hundred pounds!”

“I don’t want a hundred pounds,” said Jeffreys, with a smile; “if you and Freddy and I are good friends, that’s worth a lot more to me.”

“Why?” demanded Freddy; “are we the only friends you’ve got?”

Jeffreys looked out of the window and said,—

“Not quite—I’ve got one more.”

“Who—God?” asked the boy naturally.

Poor Jeffreys! He sometimes forgot that Friend, and it startled and humbled him to hear the little fellow’s simple question.

“Of course, he’s got Him,” interposed Teddy, without giving him time to reply. “But who else, Jeff?”

“I saw him not long ago,” said Jeffreys. “His name’s Julius.”

“You don’t like him more than us, do you?” asked Teddy rather anxiously.

“Not a quarter as much, old chap,” said Jeffreys.

There was a pause, during which Trimble chuckled to think how little the speaker guessed into whose ears he was betraying the name of his villainous accomplice! Presently, however, he started to hear the sound of his own name.

“Jeff,” said Teddy, “isn’t Mr Trimble a beast?”

“Let’s talk about something pleasant,” suggested Jeffreys, by way of begging the question.

“Let’s talk about hanging him; that would be pleasant,” said Teddy.

“Would you be sorry if he was dead?” demanded Teddy, in his matter-of-fact way. “I say, Jeff, wouldn’t it be jolly if we could kill everybody we hated?”

“Wouldn’t it be jolly if every little boy who talked like a little donkey were to have his ears boxed?” said Jeffreys.

“I wish he’d been on the tricycle instead of mother,” continued Teddy, with a sigh of content at the bare idea.

“Teddy, you are not as nice a little boy as I thought when you talk like that,” said Jeffreys. “Come and let’s have one more turn on the machine, and then I must hurry back, or Mrs Trimble will think I’m lost.”

Jeffreys got back to Galloway House about ten o’clock, and found Jonah sitting up for him.

“So youhavecome back,” said that individual pompously. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your evening out.”

“Yes,” said Jeffreys, “pretty well.”

“Oh!” said Jonah to himself, as he went up to bed, bursting with excitement. “If he only knew what I know! Let me see—”

And then he went over in his mind the events of that wonderful evening, the visit to the post-office and the horrified look as he came out letter in hand; the mysterious conference with the bookseller, doubtless over this very letter. And how artfully he had been pretending to look at the books outside till he saw no one was looking! Then, the secret meeting with his accomplice in the minster yard—Mr Julius, yes, that was the name he had himself told the boys—and the altercation over the money, doubtless the booty of their crime, and Mr Julius’s denunciation of Jeffreys as a murderer! Whew! Then that lonely country walk, and that search on the bank, and that exclamation, “It was this very place!” Whew! Jonah had tied a bit of his bootlace on the hedge just under the spot, and could find it again within a foot. Then the rencontre with the two boys and the strange, enigmatical talk in the shed, pointing to the plot of a new crime of which he—Trimble—was to be the victim. Ha, ha!—and the business over that tricycle too, in the candle-light. Jonah could see through that. He could put a spoke in a wheel as well as Jeffreys.

Two things were plain. He must get hold of the letter; and he must visit the scene of the crimewith a spade! Then—

Jonah sat up half the night thinking of it, till at last the deep breathing of his colleague in the next room reminded him that now at any rate was the time to get the letter. He had seen Jeffreys crush it into his side pocket after leaving the bookseller’s and he had heard him before getting into bed just now hang his coat on the peg behind the door. And it was hot, and the door was open.

What a day Jonah was having!

Fortune favours the brave. It was a work of two minutes only. The pocket was there at his hand before he had so much as put a foot in the room. And there was the letter—two letters—and not a board creaked or a footstep sounded before he was safe back in his own room with the documentary evidence before him.

There was only one letter after all. The other paper was a rubbishing rigmarole about General Monk and the Parliament 1660. This Jonah tossed contemptuously into the grate. But the other letter, how his flesh crept as he read it! It had no date, and was signed only in initials.

“Dear J. There is no news. I can understand your trouble and remorse, and this uncertainty makes it all the more terrible to you. I know it is vain to say to you, ‘Forget,’ but do not write about poor Forrester’s blood being on your head! Your duty is to live and redeem the past. Let the dead bury their dead, dear fellow, and turn your eyes forward, like a brave man. Yours ever, J.F.”

Do you wonder if Jonah’s blood curdled in his veins—“remorse,” “uncertainty,” “poor Forrester,” “his blood on your head,” eh? “bury your dead”!

Whew!Whata day Jonah had had, to be sure!

Chapter Eight.I know a Bank.Jonah Trimble may not have been a genius of the first water, but he was at least wise enough to know that he could not both have his cake and eat it. His discovery of Jeffreys’ villainy was a most appetising cake, and it wanted some little self-denial to keep his own counsel about it, and not spoil sport by springing his mine until all the trains were laid.Another consideration, moreover, which prevented his taking immediate action was that Jeffreys was extremely useful at Galloway House, and could not be spared just yet—even to the gallows. In a few months’ time, when the good name of the school, which had rapidly risen since he came upon the scene, was well established, things might be brought to a climax. Meanwhile Jonah Trimble would keep his eye on his man, read hisEugene Aram, and follow up his clues.Jeffreys awoke on the following morning with a feeling of oppression on his mind which for a little time he could not define. It was not his guardian’s words, bitter as they had been; it was not the insolence of his fellow-usher, intolerable as that was becoming. When at last his wandering thoughts came in and gave the trouble shape, he found it took a much more practical form. He was in debt seven pounds to Mr Frampton. It never occurred to him to wonder whether Mr Halgrove had been telling him the truth or not, nor to his unbusinesslike mind did it occur that his guardian, as the trustee responsible for what money he once had, was liable for the debt, however much he might like to repudiate it.No; all he knew was that Mr Frampton was owed seven pounds, and that he himself had nothing, or next to nothing, to pay. By hard saving during the six months he had managed to save a sovereign, but of this only last week he had spent the greater part in boots and clothing. Now his worldly wealth consisted of four shillings! He was down early that morning, and was relieved to find that Mrs Trimble was in the parlour alone, without her son. The good lady was in an amiable mood. The school was getting on, and something told her that it was not greatly due either to her own exertions or the influence of Jonah. Therefore, being a mathematical old lady, she subtracted herself and Jonah from the present school staff, and came to the conclusion that Jeffreys must have had a hand in the improvement.“Young man,” said she, in reply to her assistant’s greeting, “you’ve been with me six months. Are you comfortable?”“Pretty well,” said Jeffreys. “I’m very fond of my boys, and I always get on comfortably with you.”The mathematical dame once more went to work, and answered, “You and Jonah don’t hit it, I suppose. You don’t know Jonah, young man. He may not be easily satisfied, but he’s a gentleman.”“I’m sure,” said Jeffreys, to whom this tribute seemed the last he should expect to hear bestowed on his amiable fellow-usher, “I try to get on with him, and shall go on trying.”“That’s right,” said Mrs Trimble, once more shuddering at the prospect of being left short-handed. “What I was going to say to you was, that now you’ve been here six months, and are not a forward young man, and don’t drink, I shall raise your wages, and give you thirty shillings a month instead of twenty. How will that suit you?”“You are very kind,” said the grateful Jeffreys, with a tremble in his voice which quite moved the old lady’s heart; “it will be very acceptable.”“Very good. You need not mention it to Jonah,” added she hurriedly, as that young gentleman’s footsteps were heard that moment on the stairs.The only difference which the unconscious Jeffreys was aware of in the conduct of Jonah Trimble towards himself was that the young gentleman was a trifle more hectoring and a trifle more facetious than before.But even to the little mind of Jonah Trimble it had been revealed that at present it would be extremely awkward for Galloway House if Jeffreys went “on strike.” He was a good teacher and manager; and his boys were devoted to him. Of course, when a boy goes home from school full of the praises of his teacher, his parents are pleased too, and think well of the school, and tell their friends what a nice place it is for boys, and so on. It is a good advertisement, in fact. Besides, with Mrs Trimble so lazy, and Jonah himself so unattractive, it would involve a great deal of trouble all round if Jeffreys deserted it. They knew by experience that young fellows of good education did not as a rule jump at the situation of second usher in Galloway House. And they knew, also, something of the horrors of a prolonged vacancy in their staff.Jonah was rather relieved when Jeffreys, immediately after school, shut himself up in his own room, and remained there studying for the rest of the evening. The proceeding favoured a little idea of his own, which was to revisit the spot where he had tied his bootlace the evening before, and see if an examination of that fatal spot would throw any fresh light on his investigation. Accordingly after tea he sallied forth with a trowel in his coat pocket. It was rather a dismal expedition, for it rained, and there was a cool breeze. The lane was muddy even in the roadway, and on the banks it was a quagmire. Still Jonah was too full of his mystery seriously to mind the weather.He trudged up and down the lane, sharply scrutinising the hedge for his bootlace. For a long time his perseverance was unrewarded. At length, however, his eye detected the welcome flutter of a bright tag among the leaves, and he recognised the scene of last night’s damp sojourn.He clambered up onto the bank, regardless of his garments, and commenced an anxious scrutiny. The bank itself showed no signs of a “mystery.” Even the traces of Jeffreys’ visit to it the night before were obliterated by the soaking rain. The field on the other side was equally unsuggestive. Jonah trampled around in circles on the young corn, but never a pistol, or a rusty knife, or a bottle of poison, did he discover.Yet he had heard the villain say distinctly,—“This was the very place!”He scrambled back rather crestfallen on to the bank. It was getting dark, and the rain came down ceaselessly, yet so strong was his certainty that here he should discover the evidence he was looking for, that for another half-hour he plied his trowel diligently. Sometimes when it struck on a stone or the roots of a bramble, he trembled with anticipation; and once, when, groping under a hedge, his hand suddenly encountered a dead rat, his hair literally stood on end.He began to get nervous and uncomfortable. The night became suddenly dark, and the wind whistled all sorts of weird tunes among the trees. Jonah did not exactly believe in ghosts; still, if there were such things, this was just the night and just the place for the ghost he was looking for to take its walk abroad. He did not like it, and began to wish he was safe at home. The bushes round him began to rustle noisily, and a gate in the field swung to and fro with an almost human groan. He fancied he could descry wandering lights and white gleams in the darkness, and the vague consciousness of something coming nearer and nearer.At last, with a great effort, he roused himself from his moist seat, and leaped down from the bank into the lane.The instant his feet touched the road he was conscious of a low growl, and next moment found himself pinned, with his back to the bank, by a furious dog.His yell of terror had mingled with the wind for a couple of minutes before he became aware of the red glow of a cigar in front of him, and behind that the dim countenance of the man whose talk with Jeffreys he had overheard the previous evening.“Oh, Mr Julius!” he howled; “help me. Call him off; I shall be torn to pieces.”“And pray how come you to know the name of my dog?” said Mr Halgrove; “eh, my little highwayman?”“Please, sir, I’m not a highwayman. I was only looking for something on the bank. Oh, Mr Julius!”“My dog is not used to be called Mr,” replied Mr Halgrove.“Oh, I—I thought that was your name,” whimpered Jonah, not daring to stir an inch for fear of incurring the resentment of the dog.“And pray how came you to think my name was Julius?” said Mr Halgrove, becoming interested.“Oh! please sir, wasn’t it you that was talking to Jeffreys last night in the minster yard?”It was too dark for Jonah to see Mr Halgrove’s eyebrows go up at this unexpected question.“Julius, come in, sir. So you know the gentleman I was speaking to yesterday,” said he, coolly. “What did you say his name was?”“Jeffreys, sir. He’s an—”Jonah pulled up. This man, whatever his name was, was Jeffreys’ accomplice. Jonah felt he must not commit himself.“I beg your pardon,” said Mr Halgrove, noticing the abrupt pause.“I am saying—it’s—it’s rather a wet night, sir,” said Jonah, making a move to walk on.Mr Halgrove snapped his fingers to Julius, and next instant the wretched Jonah was pinned again to the bank.“What did you say he was?” asked Mr Halgrove, lighting a fusee.“Oh, please, sir, please call him off. My assistant, sir.”“Oh! your assistant—in what? Highway robbery?”“No, sir. In teaching a school. Please, sir, call him off.” Mr Halgrove paid no heed to the entreaty, but proceeded to extract numerous particulars as to his ward’s conduct and mode of life at Galloway House.“So he’s taken to minding little boys, has he? and you are his employer? You are aware that you have a treasure of course?”Even Trimble was not so dense as to miss the sneer with which the inquiry was made. It emboldened him considerably.“I dislike him; so does ma. We consider him a dangerous character.”Mr Halgrove laughed.“What makes you think that?”“There’s a—oh, sir, please call off the dog—mystery about him. He’s—”“Is that the reason you spied on him yesterday?”“No, sir—that is—” for at that moment Julius growled—“yes, sir. I thought if there was anything wrong it was my duty to the school to know it, sir.”“Exemplary pedagogue! And now you know it? Eh?”“Well, sir, I have my suspicions.”“No! And what might your suspicions be?”“Oh, sir,” replied the wretched Jonah, feeling like a blue-bottle on a pin, “I believe he’s a murderer in hiding. I really do.”“Clever little ferret! You’ve found that out, have you?”“I feel no doubt about it,” said Jonah, plucking up a little confidence.“Don’t feel any. When and where did the interesting event take place?”“Oh, you could tell me that better than I can tell you,” stammered Trimble.“Indeed!” said Mr Halgrove, his eyebrows going up ominously in the dark.“Of course I shouldn’t—that is—I should never dream of gettingyouinto trouble, sir.”Mr Halgrove took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at the speaker.“I’d wait till you were safe away in America, sir; and even then I wouldn’t let your name be known, you know, as an accomplice.”Mr Halgrove put his cigar back into his mouth, and changed his cane from his left hand to his right.“Fetch him here, Julius,” said he, stepping back into the middle of the road.It was in vain the wretched Jonah howled and called for mercy.“So you won’t let my name be known as an accomplice! How very kind!”And he gave practical proof of his gratitude by caning Jonah till both were tired.“Now good-night,” said Mr Halgrove when he had done, “and thank you for a pleasant evening. I dare say Mr Jeffreys will make up for any little deficiencies on my part if you ask him. Ask him, with my compliments, to show you the little game he played with one of his old school-fellows. Good-night, Mr Trimble. Wish him good-night, Julius.”Julius once more pinned his affrighted victim to the bank, and then following at his master’s heels, left the bruised and bewildered Jonah to limp home as best he could.The day he had had yesterday had been nothing in comparison with to-day! In the school, meanwhile, there was jubilation and thanksgiving over the fact that Jonah had a bad headache. Jeffreys, with the first and second classes merged for the occasion into one, amazed Mrs Trimble by the order and industry which he commanded.“The young man’s worth his money,” said the good lady, with a sigh of relief, for she had counted on losing her nap for that day at least, and was grateful beyond measure to find her fears disappointed.As for the first class, they got completely spoiled by their day’s change of teacher, and vowed they would all become dunces in order to be put back in the second class.“I say, Jeff,” said Teddy confidentially, as the school was being dismissed, “isthere any chance of his dying? It’s been so ripping to-day without him.”“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Jeffreys, in a tone which astonished his bloodthirsty young confidant; “you’re old enough to know better than talk like that.”Teddy looked very miserable at this rebuke.“Don’t be in a wax with me, Jeff,” he said appealingly. “Whatever would I do if you got to hate me?”Jeffreys was not proof against this, and walked home with his two young friends, beguiling the way with cheery talk, which effectually dispelled the cloud which his passing anger had roused.On his way back he felt impelled to climb for a moment on the bank at his favourite spot. It amazed him to see the ground all torn up, and to find a trowel lying half bedded in the turf at the top. Still more did it surprise and perplex him to find a penknife, which he recognised at once as belonging to Trimble, and which he distinctly recollected having seen in that hero’s hand during school the afternoon of the preceding day. What did it all mean?

Jonah Trimble may not have been a genius of the first water, but he was at least wise enough to know that he could not both have his cake and eat it. His discovery of Jeffreys’ villainy was a most appetising cake, and it wanted some little self-denial to keep his own counsel about it, and not spoil sport by springing his mine until all the trains were laid.

Another consideration, moreover, which prevented his taking immediate action was that Jeffreys was extremely useful at Galloway House, and could not be spared just yet—even to the gallows. In a few months’ time, when the good name of the school, which had rapidly risen since he came upon the scene, was well established, things might be brought to a climax. Meanwhile Jonah Trimble would keep his eye on his man, read hisEugene Aram, and follow up his clues.

Jeffreys awoke on the following morning with a feeling of oppression on his mind which for a little time he could not define. It was not his guardian’s words, bitter as they had been; it was not the insolence of his fellow-usher, intolerable as that was becoming. When at last his wandering thoughts came in and gave the trouble shape, he found it took a much more practical form. He was in debt seven pounds to Mr Frampton. It never occurred to him to wonder whether Mr Halgrove had been telling him the truth or not, nor to his unbusinesslike mind did it occur that his guardian, as the trustee responsible for what money he once had, was liable for the debt, however much he might like to repudiate it.

No; all he knew was that Mr Frampton was owed seven pounds, and that he himself had nothing, or next to nothing, to pay. By hard saving during the six months he had managed to save a sovereign, but of this only last week he had spent the greater part in boots and clothing. Now his worldly wealth consisted of four shillings! He was down early that morning, and was relieved to find that Mrs Trimble was in the parlour alone, without her son. The good lady was in an amiable mood. The school was getting on, and something told her that it was not greatly due either to her own exertions or the influence of Jonah. Therefore, being a mathematical old lady, she subtracted herself and Jonah from the present school staff, and came to the conclusion that Jeffreys must have had a hand in the improvement.

“Young man,” said she, in reply to her assistant’s greeting, “you’ve been with me six months. Are you comfortable?”

“Pretty well,” said Jeffreys. “I’m very fond of my boys, and I always get on comfortably with you.”

The mathematical dame once more went to work, and answered, “You and Jonah don’t hit it, I suppose. You don’t know Jonah, young man. He may not be easily satisfied, but he’s a gentleman.”

“I’m sure,” said Jeffreys, to whom this tribute seemed the last he should expect to hear bestowed on his amiable fellow-usher, “I try to get on with him, and shall go on trying.”

“That’s right,” said Mrs Trimble, once more shuddering at the prospect of being left short-handed. “What I was going to say to you was, that now you’ve been here six months, and are not a forward young man, and don’t drink, I shall raise your wages, and give you thirty shillings a month instead of twenty. How will that suit you?”

“You are very kind,” said the grateful Jeffreys, with a tremble in his voice which quite moved the old lady’s heart; “it will be very acceptable.”

“Very good. You need not mention it to Jonah,” added she hurriedly, as that young gentleman’s footsteps were heard that moment on the stairs.

The only difference which the unconscious Jeffreys was aware of in the conduct of Jonah Trimble towards himself was that the young gentleman was a trifle more hectoring and a trifle more facetious than before.

But even to the little mind of Jonah Trimble it had been revealed that at present it would be extremely awkward for Galloway House if Jeffreys went “on strike.” He was a good teacher and manager; and his boys were devoted to him. Of course, when a boy goes home from school full of the praises of his teacher, his parents are pleased too, and think well of the school, and tell their friends what a nice place it is for boys, and so on. It is a good advertisement, in fact. Besides, with Mrs Trimble so lazy, and Jonah himself so unattractive, it would involve a great deal of trouble all round if Jeffreys deserted it. They knew by experience that young fellows of good education did not as a rule jump at the situation of second usher in Galloway House. And they knew, also, something of the horrors of a prolonged vacancy in their staff.

Jonah was rather relieved when Jeffreys, immediately after school, shut himself up in his own room, and remained there studying for the rest of the evening. The proceeding favoured a little idea of his own, which was to revisit the spot where he had tied his bootlace the evening before, and see if an examination of that fatal spot would throw any fresh light on his investigation. Accordingly after tea he sallied forth with a trowel in his coat pocket. It was rather a dismal expedition, for it rained, and there was a cool breeze. The lane was muddy even in the roadway, and on the banks it was a quagmire. Still Jonah was too full of his mystery seriously to mind the weather.

He trudged up and down the lane, sharply scrutinising the hedge for his bootlace. For a long time his perseverance was unrewarded. At length, however, his eye detected the welcome flutter of a bright tag among the leaves, and he recognised the scene of last night’s damp sojourn.

He clambered up onto the bank, regardless of his garments, and commenced an anxious scrutiny. The bank itself showed no signs of a “mystery.” Even the traces of Jeffreys’ visit to it the night before were obliterated by the soaking rain. The field on the other side was equally unsuggestive. Jonah trampled around in circles on the young corn, but never a pistol, or a rusty knife, or a bottle of poison, did he discover.

Yet he had heard the villain say distinctly,—

“This was the very place!”

He scrambled back rather crestfallen on to the bank. It was getting dark, and the rain came down ceaselessly, yet so strong was his certainty that here he should discover the evidence he was looking for, that for another half-hour he plied his trowel diligently. Sometimes when it struck on a stone or the roots of a bramble, he trembled with anticipation; and once, when, groping under a hedge, his hand suddenly encountered a dead rat, his hair literally stood on end.

He began to get nervous and uncomfortable. The night became suddenly dark, and the wind whistled all sorts of weird tunes among the trees. Jonah did not exactly believe in ghosts; still, if there were such things, this was just the night and just the place for the ghost he was looking for to take its walk abroad. He did not like it, and began to wish he was safe at home. The bushes round him began to rustle noisily, and a gate in the field swung to and fro with an almost human groan. He fancied he could descry wandering lights and white gleams in the darkness, and the vague consciousness of something coming nearer and nearer.

At last, with a great effort, he roused himself from his moist seat, and leaped down from the bank into the lane.

The instant his feet touched the road he was conscious of a low growl, and next moment found himself pinned, with his back to the bank, by a furious dog.

His yell of terror had mingled with the wind for a couple of minutes before he became aware of the red glow of a cigar in front of him, and behind that the dim countenance of the man whose talk with Jeffreys he had overheard the previous evening.

“Oh, Mr Julius!” he howled; “help me. Call him off; I shall be torn to pieces.”

“And pray how come you to know the name of my dog?” said Mr Halgrove; “eh, my little highwayman?”

“Please, sir, I’m not a highwayman. I was only looking for something on the bank. Oh, Mr Julius!”

“My dog is not used to be called Mr,” replied Mr Halgrove.

“Oh, I—I thought that was your name,” whimpered Jonah, not daring to stir an inch for fear of incurring the resentment of the dog.

“And pray how came you to think my name was Julius?” said Mr Halgrove, becoming interested.

“Oh! please sir, wasn’t it you that was talking to Jeffreys last night in the minster yard?”

It was too dark for Jonah to see Mr Halgrove’s eyebrows go up at this unexpected question.

“Julius, come in, sir. So you know the gentleman I was speaking to yesterday,” said he, coolly. “What did you say his name was?”

“Jeffreys, sir. He’s an—”

Jonah pulled up. This man, whatever his name was, was Jeffreys’ accomplice. Jonah felt he must not commit himself.

“I beg your pardon,” said Mr Halgrove, noticing the abrupt pause.

“I am saying—it’s—it’s rather a wet night, sir,” said Jonah, making a move to walk on.

Mr Halgrove snapped his fingers to Julius, and next instant the wretched Jonah was pinned again to the bank.

“What did you say he was?” asked Mr Halgrove, lighting a fusee.

“Oh, please, sir, please call him off. My assistant, sir.”

“Oh! your assistant—in what? Highway robbery?”

“No, sir. In teaching a school. Please, sir, call him off.” Mr Halgrove paid no heed to the entreaty, but proceeded to extract numerous particulars as to his ward’s conduct and mode of life at Galloway House.

“So he’s taken to minding little boys, has he? and you are his employer? You are aware that you have a treasure of course?”

Even Trimble was not so dense as to miss the sneer with which the inquiry was made. It emboldened him considerably.

“I dislike him; so does ma. We consider him a dangerous character.”

Mr Halgrove laughed.

“What makes you think that?”

“There’s a—oh, sir, please call off the dog—mystery about him. He’s—”

“Is that the reason you spied on him yesterday?”

“No, sir—that is—” for at that moment Julius growled—“yes, sir. I thought if there was anything wrong it was my duty to the school to know it, sir.”

“Exemplary pedagogue! And now you know it? Eh?”

“Well, sir, I have my suspicions.”

“No! And what might your suspicions be?”

“Oh, sir,” replied the wretched Jonah, feeling like a blue-bottle on a pin, “I believe he’s a murderer in hiding. I really do.”

“Clever little ferret! You’ve found that out, have you?”

“I feel no doubt about it,” said Jonah, plucking up a little confidence.

“Don’t feel any. When and where did the interesting event take place?”

“Oh, you could tell me that better than I can tell you,” stammered Trimble.

“Indeed!” said Mr Halgrove, his eyebrows going up ominously in the dark.

“Of course I shouldn’t—that is—I should never dream of gettingyouinto trouble, sir.”

Mr Halgrove took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at the speaker.

“I’d wait till you were safe away in America, sir; and even then I wouldn’t let your name be known, you know, as an accomplice.”

Mr Halgrove put his cigar back into his mouth, and changed his cane from his left hand to his right.

“Fetch him here, Julius,” said he, stepping back into the middle of the road.

It was in vain the wretched Jonah howled and called for mercy.

“So you won’t let my name be known as an accomplice! How very kind!”

And he gave practical proof of his gratitude by caning Jonah till both were tired.

“Now good-night,” said Mr Halgrove when he had done, “and thank you for a pleasant evening. I dare say Mr Jeffreys will make up for any little deficiencies on my part if you ask him. Ask him, with my compliments, to show you the little game he played with one of his old school-fellows. Good-night, Mr Trimble. Wish him good-night, Julius.”

Julius once more pinned his affrighted victim to the bank, and then following at his master’s heels, left the bruised and bewildered Jonah to limp home as best he could.

The day he had had yesterday had been nothing in comparison with to-day! In the school, meanwhile, there was jubilation and thanksgiving over the fact that Jonah had a bad headache. Jeffreys, with the first and second classes merged for the occasion into one, amazed Mrs Trimble by the order and industry which he commanded.

“The young man’s worth his money,” said the good lady, with a sigh of relief, for she had counted on losing her nap for that day at least, and was grateful beyond measure to find her fears disappointed.

As for the first class, they got completely spoiled by their day’s change of teacher, and vowed they would all become dunces in order to be put back in the second class.

“I say, Jeff,” said Teddy confidentially, as the school was being dismissed, “isthere any chance of his dying? It’s been so ripping to-day without him.”

“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Jeffreys, in a tone which astonished his bloodthirsty young confidant; “you’re old enough to know better than talk like that.”

Teddy looked very miserable at this rebuke.

“Don’t be in a wax with me, Jeff,” he said appealingly. “Whatever would I do if you got to hate me?”

Jeffreys was not proof against this, and walked home with his two young friends, beguiling the way with cheery talk, which effectually dispelled the cloud which his passing anger had roused.

On his way back he felt impelled to climb for a moment on the bank at his favourite spot. It amazed him to see the ground all torn up, and to find a trowel lying half bedded in the turf at the top. Still more did it surprise and perplex him to find a penknife, which he recognised at once as belonging to Trimble, and which he distinctly recollected having seen in that hero’s hand during school the afternoon of the preceding day. What did it all mean?

Chapter Nine.A Thunderstorm.It did not add to Jonah’s happiness to see the looks of evident disgust with which the first class greeted his reappearance in the schoolroom. Their pleasant experience yesterday had demoralised them, and they settled down listlessly at Jonah’s bidding like voyagers who, after a day in still waters, put out once more to the rough sea. Teddy especially felt the hardships of the mighty deep. Jonah’s eye transfixed him all day. If he spoke, if he fidgeted, if he looked about, the hand of the tyrant swooped down upon him.He spent the greater part of the day standing on the form. The contents of his pockets (including some priceless marbles) were impounded; he had two columns of dates to commit to memory before he could go home; and, hardest of all, because of a little blot, he was reduced to the ineffable humiliation of writing all his exercises on a slate!It took all the big heart of the little fellow to bear up against this mountain of calamity, and had it not been for an occasional glimpse of Jeffreys’ face, turned sympathetically in his direction, his courage might have failed him.School closed, and still his dates were unlearnt. His legs ached with standing hour after hour on the narrow form, and his head, lifted three feet higher than usual into the heated atmosphere of the room, swam ominously.Freddy, after waiting about dismally for half an hour, had gone home alone. The voices of boys remaining to play or talk in the yard outside had one after another ceased. Jeffreys had long since taken himself and his books elsewhere, and only Jonah was left to keep watch over his prisoner.The boy made a tremendous effort to master the dates, but they went through him like water through a sieve. He could not even keep his eyes on the book, and when he turned them towards the master’s desk, Jonah seemed to be half hidden in mist. He edged cautiously to the end of the form nearest the wall, where at least he might get a little support. It was a perilous voyage, for he was two feet away, and scarcely dare move at a greater rate than an inch a minute. He got there at last, nearly done up, and with a sigh of relief leaned his head against the cold plaster.“Rosher, stand at the other end of the form immediately, and learn twenty more dates for being idle.”Alas poor Teddy! He had held out long, and braved much. But his heart quailed now. He seemed glued to the wall, and the form all of a sudden seemed to contract into a tight-rope over a chasm.“I’m so tired, sir, I—”“Silence, sir! and do what you’re told,” thundered Jonah.Teddy staggered forward half a step, but shrank back before he had finished it to the friendly wall.Trimble rose from his seat.“Do you hear me?” he shouted furiously. “Stand where I tell you.”“Please, sir, I can’t. I—”Here Trimble advanced towards him, and Teddy, fairly unnerved and almost fainting, slipped down from the bench and burst into tears.“That’s it, is it?” said Jonah; “we’ll see whether you can or—”At that instant the door opened, and Jeffreys entered the room.It did not require the boy’s sobbing appeal, “Oh, Jeff, Jeff!” to enable him to take in the situation at a glance. Nor did it need a second glance at the face of the intruder to induce Jonah to turn pale.Jeffreys advanced without a word to the form, brushing Jonah out of his way with a swing that sent him staggering six paces down the floor, and putting his arm round Teddy, led him without a word from the room.“Come along, little chap,” said he, when they got outside; “come home.”The sound of his voice revived Teddy like a cordial.“Do you hate me for blubbering?” he asked anxiously; “wasn’t it like a baby?”“How long had you been up there?” asked Jeffreys.“It was half-past one when he stood me up. I had only just been looking round to see where Freddy was; and oh, Jeff, I’ve got to write on a slate just because of a little blot. What’s the time now?”“Half-past five,” said Jeffreys, putting on his hat, and swinging Teddy’s satchel over his own arm.“Are you coming with me Jeff?” asked the boy eagerly.“Of course you couldn’t get home alone.”Great was the content of the little fellow as he left Galloway House with his hand on the strong arm of his tutor. Greater still were his surprise and content when, as soon as the streets were past, Jeffreys took him up on his back and carried him the rest of the way to Ash Cottage.“Thanks, awfully, old Jeff,” said the boy, as they parted at the gate of the cottage. “What makes you so kind to Freddy and me?”“I’m not good at riddles, Teddy. Good-night,” and he went.Jonah, as he was not surprised to find, was expecting him, in a state of high ferment. Jeffreys would fain have avoided an interview. For he was constantly discovering that he was still far from sure of himself. That afternoon his passion had been within an ace of mastering him; and at any time he dreaded something might happen which would undo all the penance of those last six months. He therefore resolved wisely in the present instance to avoid altercation as far as possible.“Well, sir, and what have you got to say for yourself? Where have you been?” demanded Jonah, in tones of lofty bitterness.“I have just taken Rosher home. After standing four hours on the form he wasn’t fit to walk himself.”“Oh!” snorted Jonah, nearly bursting with indignation; “and pray how—”“Excuse me, Trimble. If you and Mrs Trimble wish me to leave, I’ll do so. If not, don’t talk to me. I don’t want it.”Poor Jonah nearly had a fit. He, head man of Galloway House, knowing what he did, to be spoken to like this by a stuck-up—murderer!He had prepared a scene, and had counted on coming to an understanding then and there. And lo and behold! before he had well opened his mouth, he had been ordered to shut it by the very being whom he had at his mercy. It passed Jonah’s comprehension.Jeffreys waited a minute to give him a chance of accepting his former alternative. Then, concluding he had decided on the latter, he betook himself to his own room and remained there.Jonah, as soon as he could recover himself sufficiently to think at all, made up his mind that, come what would, he had had enough of this sort of life. With which conviction he crushed his hat on his head, and sallied forth into the open air.His feet almost instinctively turned in the direction of Ash Lane; but on this occasion they went past the fatal bank and brought their owner to a halt at the door of Ash Cottage.“Is Mr Rosher at home?” inquired he of the servant.Mr Rosher was at home—a jovial, well-to-do farmer, with a hearty Yorkshire voice and a good-humoured grin on his broad face.“Well, lad, what is’t?” he asked, as Trimble, hat in hand, was shown into the little parlour. “Man, it’s the little school-maister.”“Yes, Mr Rosher,” said Trimble; “I should like five minutes’ talk with you if you can spare the time.”“Blaze away, lad. A’ve nothin’ else to do.”“I’m rather anxious about your two dear little boys,” began Trimble.“Thee needn’t be that; they’re tight lads, and learn quite fast enough.”“It’s not that, Mr Rosher, though I hope they do justice to the pains we take with them.”“They nearly killed their mother t’other day on the tricycle,” said Mr Rosher, laughing like a young bull. “Was’t thee or t’other young chap came to mend t’auld bone-shaker? Twas a kindly turn to the little fellows, and I’m sorry thee didn’t stay to tea, lad.”“We always like to try to make them happy,” said Jonah. “Indeed, that is what I came to see you about. I’m sorry to say—”“Thee’s come to tell me why Teddy was blubbering when he got home. Thee’d better tell that to his mother,” said the father.“I’m so sorry to say,” pursued Jonah, beginning to wish he was over his task, “my assistant-master is disappointing me. I took him on half in charity six months ago, but lately he has been having a bad influence in the school, and I thought it, my duty—”“Tut, tut! The lads have been cheerier this last six months than ever before—”“Of course we try all we can to make them happy, and shield them from harm,” pursued Trimble, “and I am glad you think we have made school happy for them—”“And is that all thee’s come to say?” said the bewildered parent.“No, sir. Of course in school I can look after the boys and see they come to no harm; but after school hours of course they are out of my control, and then it is I’m afraid of their coming to mischief. My assistant, I hear, has been in the habit of walking home with them, and from what I know of him he is not a desirable companion for them, and I think it is my duty to put you on your guard, Mr Rosher. They should not be encouraged to see too much of him out of doors or bring him to the house.”“It bothers me why you keep the man if he’s that sort!” said Mr Rosher. “What’s wrong with him?”“I’m afraid he’s a bad character. I have only discovered it lately, and intend to dismiss him as soon as I get a new assistant.”“What dost mean by a bad character? Is he a thief?”Trimble looked very grave.“I wish it was no worse than that.”The farmer’s jaw dropped.“What?” said he. “Dost mean to tell me the man’s a murderer?”Jonah looked terribly shocked.“It’s a dreadful thing to suspect any one,” said he, “but it would not be right of me to let things go on without warning you. I shall keep your boys under my own eyes all school-time; and I advise you—”“I don’t want thy advice. Take thyself off!”Jonah saw that to prolong the interview would only make matters worse. The good father was evidently roused; but whether against him, Jonah, or against Jeffreys, he could scarcely tell. He departed decidedly crestfallen, and more than half repenting of his amiable expedition.His misgivings were somewhat relieved next morning when Freddy and Teddy put in an appearance punctually at school-time. Jonah considered it expedient under the circumstances not to refer to Teddy’s mutinous conduct on the preceding day—a determination which afforded great comfort to that young gentleman and which he put down by a mysterious process of reasoning to Jeffreys’ good offices on his behalf.Jonah, however, on this particular morning felt far from comfortable. It may have been the hot sultry day, or it may have been the general oppression of his own feelings, which gave him a sense of something—probably a thunderstorm impending. His class remarked that he was less exacting than usual, and even Jeffreys became aware that his colleague for once in a way was not himself.The clock had just struck twelve, and the boys were beginning to look forward to their usual break in half an hour’s time, when the schoolroom door suddenly opened, and disclosed the broad figure of Mr Rosher, followed at a timid distance by Mrs Trimble.Jonah’s face turned pale; Freddy and Teddy opened their eyes to their widest. Jeffreys, on hearing Freddy mutter “Father,” looked round curiously, to get a view of the father of his little friends.Mr Rosher recognised Trimble with a nod.“I’ve coom, you see, lad. I want to have a look at this murderer fellow thee was talking about. Where is he?”It was a thunderclap with a vengeance! Only two persons in the room guessed all it meant.“Coom, trot him out, man,” repeated the farmer, noticing the hesitation in Jonah’s scared face. “Is that the chap yonder thee was telling me of?” added he, pointing to Jeffreys.It was all up with Galloway House, and Jonah knew it.“Yes,” said he.Jeffrey’s face became livid as he sprang to his feet.“Stay where thou art,” said the brawny farmer, motioning him back. “Let’s have a look at thee. So thee’s a manslayer? Thou looks it.”A terrible pause followed—the pause of a man who struggles for words that will not come.He looked terrible indeed; with heaving chest and bloodless lips, and eyes like the eyes of a hunted wolf. At length he gasped—“Liar!” and advanced towards the affrighted Jonah.But the sturdy Yorkshire-man stepped between.“Nay, nay,” said he, “one’s enough. Stay where thou art, and let him give chapter and verse—chapter and verse. He came to me last night, and said thou wast a murderer, and I’ve coom to see if thou art. Thou looks one, but maybe thou’rt right to call him a liar.”“Ask him,” gasped Jonah, “what he did to his old schoolfellow, young Forrester, and then lot him call me a liar if he likes.”“Dost hear, lad? What was it thee did to thy old schoolfellow young Forrester? That’s a fair question. Out with it.”If Jeffreys had looked terrible a moment ago, he looked still more terrible now, as he sank with a groan onto the bench, and turned a sickened look on his accuser.The dead silence of the room almost stunned him. He seemed to feel every eye that turned to him like a dagger in his heart, and there rose up in his mind a vision of that football field far away, and the senseless figure of the boy who lay there. Everything came back. The howl of execration, the frightened faces, the cap lying where the boy had flung it, even the chill autumn breeze in his face.He knew not how long he sat there stupefied. The voice of Mr Rosher roused him.“Coom, now, dost thou say liar still?”Jeffreys struggled to his feet, no longer furious, but still more terrible in his dejection.“Yes,” snapped Jonah, astonished at the effect of his accusation, and just wise enough to see that to add to or take away from the story would be to spoil it. “What did you do to your poor schoolfellow, young Forrester? Do you suppose we don’t see through you?”“Hold thy tongue, little donkey!” said the farmer; “let’s hear what he has to say.”For a moment it seemed as if Jeffreys was about to take him at his word, and say something. But his tongue failed him at the critical moment, and he gave it up. He had caught sight of Teddy’s eyes fixed on his in mingled misery and terror, and the sight unmanned him.He moved slowly to the door.They watched him, spellbound, and in a moment he would have gone, had not Teddy with a big sob made a spring forward and seized him by the arm.“Oh, Jeff it’s a wicked he; we don’t believe it. Freddy, we don’t believe it, do we? Father, he’s been good to us; he never did anything unkind. Don’t have him sent away!”This appeal fairly broke the spell. Freddy was at his brother’s side in an instant, and the rest of the school, had not Mr Rosher motioned them back, would have followed him.“Teddy and Freddy, my lads,” said the farmer, “go to thy seats like good lads. Let him say yea or nay to what this—little—peacher says.”“Say you didn’t, Jeff,” implored the boys.Jeffreys shook his head sadly.“I can’t,” he said. “If he’s dead—”“Oh, he’s dead,” put in Jonah; “I can tell you that.”Jeffreys gave one scared look at the speaker, and then hurried from the room.Mrs Trimble followed him up to his room.“I don’t believe it all,” said she; “you never did it on purpose, you’re not so bad as that. I won’t believe it even if you tell me,” said the good lady, bursting into tears.Jeffreys put together his few books and garments.“You’re going,” said she, “of course. It’s no use hoping you won’t. Here’s two pounds you’re owed—and—”Jeffreys took the money, and kept her hand for a moment in his.“You are kind,” said he hoarsely. “Good-bye, Mrs Trimble.”He kissed her hand and took up his bundle.At the foot of the stairs a boy’s hand was laid on his arm.“Oh, Jeff,” whispered Teddy—he had stolen out of the schoolroom. “Poor Jeff! I know you aren’t wicked. Say good-bye, Jeff. What shall we do? What shall we do?”“Good-bye, little chap,” said Jeffreys, stooping down and kissing the boy’s wet cheek.“But, Jeff, where are you going? When will you—?”Jeffreys was gone.In the schoolroom meanwhile the inevitable reaction had taken place.As the door closed behind Jeffreys, Jonah, hardly knowing what he did, gave vent to a hysterical laugh.It was the signal for an explosion such as he had little counted on.“Thou little dirty toad!” said the farmer, rounding on him wrathfully; “what dost mean by that? Hey? For shame!”“Beast!” shouted Freddy, choking with anger and misery.“Beast!” echoed the school.Some one threw a wet sponge across the room, but Mr Rosher intercepted it.“Nay, nay, lads; don’t waste your clean things on him. Freddy and Teddy, my lads—where’s Teddy?—come along home. You’ve done with Galloway House.”“Why, sir—” expostulated the wretched Jonah.“Hold thy tongue again,” roared the farmer. “Coom away, lads. Thee can take a half-holiday to-day, all of you, and if thy parents ask why, say Farmer Rosher will tell them.”“I’ll have you prosecuted,” growled Trimble, “for interfering with my—”“Dost want to be shut up in yon cupboard?” roared the hot-headed farmer. And the hint was quite enough.Galloway House on that day turned a corner. Farmer Rosher, who had sore doubts in his own mind whether he had done good or harm by his interference, spoke his mind freely to his neighbours on the subject of Jonah Trimble, a proceeding in which his two sons heartily backed him up. The consequence was that that worthy young pedagogue found his scholastic labours materially lightened—for a dozen boys are easier to teach than fifty—and had time to wonder whether after all he would not have served his day and generation quite as well by looking after his own affairs, as after the most unprofitable affairs of somebody else.

It did not add to Jonah’s happiness to see the looks of evident disgust with which the first class greeted his reappearance in the schoolroom. Their pleasant experience yesterday had demoralised them, and they settled down listlessly at Jonah’s bidding like voyagers who, after a day in still waters, put out once more to the rough sea. Teddy especially felt the hardships of the mighty deep. Jonah’s eye transfixed him all day. If he spoke, if he fidgeted, if he looked about, the hand of the tyrant swooped down upon him.

He spent the greater part of the day standing on the form. The contents of his pockets (including some priceless marbles) were impounded; he had two columns of dates to commit to memory before he could go home; and, hardest of all, because of a little blot, he was reduced to the ineffable humiliation of writing all his exercises on a slate!

It took all the big heart of the little fellow to bear up against this mountain of calamity, and had it not been for an occasional glimpse of Jeffreys’ face, turned sympathetically in his direction, his courage might have failed him.

School closed, and still his dates were unlearnt. His legs ached with standing hour after hour on the narrow form, and his head, lifted three feet higher than usual into the heated atmosphere of the room, swam ominously.

Freddy, after waiting about dismally for half an hour, had gone home alone. The voices of boys remaining to play or talk in the yard outside had one after another ceased. Jeffreys had long since taken himself and his books elsewhere, and only Jonah was left to keep watch over his prisoner.

The boy made a tremendous effort to master the dates, but they went through him like water through a sieve. He could not even keep his eyes on the book, and when he turned them towards the master’s desk, Jonah seemed to be half hidden in mist. He edged cautiously to the end of the form nearest the wall, where at least he might get a little support. It was a perilous voyage, for he was two feet away, and scarcely dare move at a greater rate than an inch a minute. He got there at last, nearly done up, and with a sigh of relief leaned his head against the cold plaster.

“Rosher, stand at the other end of the form immediately, and learn twenty more dates for being idle.”

Alas poor Teddy! He had held out long, and braved much. But his heart quailed now. He seemed glued to the wall, and the form all of a sudden seemed to contract into a tight-rope over a chasm.

“I’m so tired, sir, I—”

“Silence, sir! and do what you’re told,” thundered Jonah.

Teddy staggered forward half a step, but shrank back before he had finished it to the friendly wall.

Trimble rose from his seat.

“Do you hear me?” he shouted furiously. “Stand where I tell you.”

“Please, sir, I can’t. I—”

Here Trimble advanced towards him, and Teddy, fairly unnerved and almost fainting, slipped down from the bench and burst into tears.

“That’s it, is it?” said Jonah; “we’ll see whether you can or—”

At that instant the door opened, and Jeffreys entered the room.

It did not require the boy’s sobbing appeal, “Oh, Jeff, Jeff!” to enable him to take in the situation at a glance. Nor did it need a second glance at the face of the intruder to induce Jonah to turn pale.

Jeffreys advanced without a word to the form, brushing Jonah out of his way with a swing that sent him staggering six paces down the floor, and putting his arm round Teddy, led him without a word from the room.

“Come along, little chap,” said he, when they got outside; “come home.”

The sound of his voice revived Teddy like a cordial.

“Do you hate me for blubbering?” he asked anxiously; “wasn’t it like a baby?”

“How long had you been up there?” asked Jeffreys.

“It was half-past one when he stood me up. I had only just been looking round to see where Freddy was; and oh, Jeff, I’ve got to write on a slate just because of a little blot. What’s the time now?”

“Half-past five,” said Jeffreys, putting on his hat, and swinging Teddy’s satchel over his own arm.

“Are you coming with me Jeff?” asked the boy eagerly.

“Of course you couldn’t get home alone.”

Great was the content of the little fellow as he left Galloway House with his hand on the strong arm of his tutor. Greater still were his surprise and content when, as soon as the streets were past, Jeffreys took him up on his back and carried him the rest of the way to Ash Cottage.

“Thanks, awfully, old Jeff,” said the boy, as they parted at the gate of the cottage. “What makes you so kind to Freddy and me?”

“I’m not good at riddles, Teddy. Good-night,” and he went.

Jonah, as he was not surprised to find, was expecting him, in a state of high ferment. Jeffreys would fain have avoided an interview. For he was constantly discovering that he was still far from sure of himself. That afternoon his passion had been within an ace of mastering him; and at any time he dreaded something might happen which would undo all the penance of those last six months. He therefore resolved wisely in the present instance to avoid altercation as far as possible.

“Well, sir, and what have you got to say for yourself? Where have you been?” demanded Jonah, in tones of lofty bitterness.

“I have just taken Rosher home. After standing four hours on the form he wasn’t fit to walk himself.”

“Oh!” snorted Jonah, nearly bursting with indignation; “and pray how—”

“Excuse me, Trimble. If you and Mrs Trimble wish me to leave, I’ll do so. If not, don’t talk to me. I don’t want it.”

Poor Jonah nearly had a fit. He, head man of Galloway House, knowing what he did, to be spoken to like this by a stuck-up—murderer!

He had prepared a scene, and had counted on coming to an understanding then and there. And lo and behold! before he had well opened his mouth, he had been ordered to shut it by the very being whom he had at his mercy. It passed Jonah’s comprehension.

Jeffreys waited a minute to give him a chance of accepting his former alternative. Then, concluding he had decided on the latter, he betook himself to his own room and remained there.

Jonah, as soon as he could recover himself sufficiently to think at all, made up his mind that, come what would, he had had enough of this sort of life. With which conviction he crushed his hat on his head, and sallied forth into the open air.

His feet almost instinctively turned in the direction of Ash Lane; but on this occasion they went past the fatal bank and brought their owner to a halt at the door of Ash Cottage.

“Is Mr Rosher at home?” inquired he of the servant.

Mr Rosher was at home—a jovial, well-to-do farmer, with a hearty Yorkshire voice and a good-humoured grin on his broad face.

“Well, lad, what is’t?” he asked, as Trimble, hat in hand, was shown into the little parlour. “Man, it’s the little school-maister.”

“Yes, Mr Rosher,” said Trimble; “I should like five minutes’ talk with you if you can spare the time.”

“Blaze away, lad. A’ve nothin’ else to do.”

“I’m rather anxious about your two dear little boys,” began Trimble.

“Thee needn’t be that; they’re tight lads, and learn quite fast enough.”

“It’s not that, Mr Rosher, though I hope they do justice to the pains we take with them.”

“They nearly killed their mother t’other day on the tricycle,” said Mr Rosher, laughing like a young bull. “Was’t thee or t’other young chap came to mend t’auld bone-shaker? Twas a kindly turn to the little fellows, and I’m sorry thee didn’t stay to tea, lad.”

“We always like to try to make them happy,” said Jonah. “Indeed, that is what I came to see you about. I’m sorry to say—”

“Thee’s come to tell me why Teddy was blubbering when he got home. Thee’d better tell that to his mother,” said the father.

“I’m so sorry to say,” pursued Jonah, beginning to wish he was over his task, “my assistant-master is disappointing me. I took him on half in charity six months ago, but lately he has been having a bad influence in the school, and I thought it, my duty—”

“Tut, tut! The lads have been cheerier this last six months than ever before—”

“Of course we try all we can to make them happy, and shield them from harm,” pursued Trimble, “and I am glad you think we have made school happy for them—”

“And is that all thee’s come to say?” said the bewildered parent.

“No, sir. Of course in school I can look after the boys and see they come to no harm; but after school hours of course they are out of my control, and then it is I’m afraid of their coming to mischief. My assistant, I hear, has been in the habit of walking home with them, and from what I know of him he is not a desirable companion for them, and I think it is my duty to put you on your guard, Mr Rosher. They should not be encouraged to see too much of him out of doors or bring him to the house.”

“It bothers me why you keep the man if he’s that sort!” said Mr Rosher. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m afraid he’s a bad character. I have only discovered it lately, and intend to dismiss him as soon as I get a new assistant.”

“What dost mean by a bad character? Is he a thief?”

Trimble looked very grave.

“I wish it was no worse than that.”

The farmer’s jaw dropped.

“What?” said he. “Dost mean to tell me the man’s a murderer?”

Jonah looked terribly shocked.

“It’s a dreadful thing to suspect any one,” said he, “but it would not be right of me to let things go on without warning you. I shall keep your boys under my own eyes all school-time; and I advise you—”

“I don’t want thy advice. Take thyself off!”

Jonah saw that to prolong the interview would only make matters worse. The good father was evidently roused; but whether against him, Jonah, or against Jeffreys, he could scarcely tell. He departed decidedly crestfallen, and more than half repenting of his amiable expedition.

His misgivings were somewhat relieved next morning when Freddy and Teddy put in an appearance punctually at school-time. Jonah considered it expedient under the circumstances not to refer to Teddy’s mutinous conduct on the preceding day—a determination which afforded great comfort to that young gentleman and which he put down by a mysterious process of reasoning to Jeffreys’ good offices on his behalf.

Jonah, however, on this particular morning felt far from comfortable. It may have been the hot sultry day, or it may have been the general oppression of his own feelings, which gave him a sense of something—probably a thunderstorm impending. His class remarked that he was less exacting than usual, and even Jeffreys became aware that his colleague for once in a way was not himself.

The clock had just struck twelve, and the boys were beginning to look forward to their usual break in half an hour’s time, when the schoolroom door suddenly opened, and disclosed the broad figure of Mr Rosher, followed at a timid distance by Mrs Trimble.

Jonah’s face turned pale; Freddy and Teddy opened their eyes to their widest. Jeffreys, on hearing Freddy mutter “Father,” looked round curiously, to get a view of the father of his little friends.

Mr Rosher recognised Trimble with a nod.

“I’ve coom, you see, lad. I want to have a look at this murderer fellow thee was talking about. Where is he?”

It was a thunderclap with a vengeance! Only two persons in the room guessed all it meant.

“Coom, trot him out, man,” repeated the farmer, noticing the hesitation in Jonah’s scared face. “Is that the chap yonder thee was telling me of?” added he, pointing to Jeffreys.

It was all up with Galloway House, and Jonah knew it.

“Yes,” said he.

Jeffrey’s face became livid as he sprang to his feet.

“Stay where thou art,” said the brawny farmer, motioning him back. “Let’s have a look at thee. So thee’s a manslayer? Thou looks it.”

A terrible pause followed—the pause of a man who struggles for words that will not come.

He looked terrible indeed; with heaving chest and bloodless lips, and eyes like the eyes of a hunted wolf. At length he gasped—

“Liar!” and advanced towards the affrighted Jonah.

But the sturdy Yorkshire-man stepped between.

“Nay, nay,” said he, “one’s enough. Stay where thou art, and let him give chapter and verse—chapter and verse. He came to me last night, and said thou wast a murderer, and I’ve coom to see if thou art. Thou looks one, but maybe thou’rt right to call him a liar.”

“Ask him,” gasped Jonah, “what he did to his old schoolfellow, young Forrester, and then lot him call me a liar if he likes.”

“Dost hear, lad? What was it thee did to thy old schoolfellow young Forrester? That’s a fair question. Out with it.”

If Jeffreys had looked terrible a moment ago, he looked still more terrible now, as he sank with a groan onto the bench, and turned a sickened look on his accuser.

The dead silence of the room almost stunned him. He seemed to feel every eye that turned to him like a dagger in his heart, and there rose up in his mind a vision of that football field far away, and the senseless figure of the boy who lay there. Everything came back. The howl of execration, the frightened faces, the cap lying where the boy had flung it, even the chill autumn breeze in his face.

He knew not how long he sat there stupefied. The voice of Mr Rosher roused him.

“Coom, now, dost thou say liar still?”

Jeffreys struggled to his feet, no longer furious, but still more terrible in his dejection.

“Yes,” snapped Jonah, astonished at the effect of his accusation, and just wise enough to see that to add to or take away from the story would be to spoil it. “What did you do to your poor schoolfellow, young Forrester? Do you suppose we don’t see through you?”

“Hold thy tongue, little donkey!” said the farmer; “let’s hear what he has to say.”

For a moment it seemed as if Jeffreys was about to take him at his word, and say something. But his tongue failed him at the critical moment, and he gave it up. He had caught sight of Teddy’s eyes fixed on his in mingled misery and terror, and the sight unmanned him.

He moved slowly to the door.

They watched him, spellbound, and in a moment he would have gone, had not Teddy with a big sob made a spring forward and seized him by the arm.

“Oh, Jeff it’s a wicked he; we don’t believe it. Freddy, we don’t believe it, do we? Father, he’s been good to us; he never did anything unkind. Don’t have him sent away!”

This appeal fairly broke the spell. Freddy was at his brother’s side in an instant, and the rest of the school, had not Mr Rosher motioned them back, would have followed him.

“Teddy and Freddy, my lads,” said the farmer, “go to thy seats like good lads. Let him say yea or nay to what this—little—peacher says.”

“Say you didn’t, Jeff,” implored the boys.

Jeffreys shook his head sadly.

“I can’t,” he said. “If he’s dead—”

“Oh, he’s dead,” put in Jonah; “I can tell you that.”

Jeffreys gave one scared look at the speaker, and then hurried from the room.

Mrs Trimble followed him up to his room.

“I don’t believe it all,” said she; “you never did it on purpose, you’re not so bad as that. I won’t believe it even if you tell me,” said the good lady, bursting into tears.

Jeffreys put together his few books and garments.

“You’re going,” said she, “of course. It’s no use hoping you won’t. Here’s two pounds you’re owed—and—”

Jeffreys took the money, and kept her hand for a moment in his.

“You are kind,” said he hoarsely. “Good-bye, Mrs Trimble.”

He kissed her hand and took up his bundle.

At the foot of the stairs a boy’s hand was laid on his arm.

“Oh, Jeff,” whispered Teddy—he had stolen out of the schoolroom. “Poor Jeff! I know you aren’t wicked. Say good-bye, Jeff. What shall we do? What shall we do?”

“Good-bye, little chap,” said Jeffreys, stooping down and kissing the boy’s wet cheek.

“But, Jeff, where are you going? When will you—?”

Jeffreys was gone.

In the schoolroom meanwhile the inevitable reaction had taken place.

As the door closed behind Jeffreys, Jonah, hardly knowing what he did, gave vent to a hysterical laugh.

It was the signal for an explosion such as he had little counted on.

“Thou little dirty toad!” said the farmer, rounding on him wrathfully; “what dost mean by that? Hey? For shame!”

“Beast!” shouted Freddy, choking with anger and misery.

“Beast!” echoed the school.

Some one threw a wet sponge across the room, but Mr Rosher intercepted it.

“Nay, nay, lads; don’t waste your clean things on him. Freddy and Teddy, my lads—where’s Teddy?—come along home. You’ve done with Galloway House.”

“Why, sir—” expostulated the wretched Jonah.

“Hold thy tongue again,” roared the farmer. “Coom away, lads. Thee can take a half-holiday to-day, all of you, and if thy parents ask why, say Farmer Rosher will tell them.”

“I’ll have you prosecuted,” growled Trimble, “for interfering with my—”

“Dost want to be shut up in yon cupboard?” roared the hot-headed farmer. And the hint was quite enough.

Galloway House on that day turned a corner. Farmer Rosher, who had sore doubts in his own mind whether he had done good or harm by his interference, spoke his mind freely to his neighbours on the subject of Jonah Trimble, a proceeding in which his two sons heartily backed him up. The consequence was that that worthy young pedagogue found his scholastic labours materially lightened—for a dozen boys are easier to teach than fifty—and had time to wonder whether after all he would not have served his day and generation quite as well by looking after his own affairs, as after the most unprofitable affairs of somebody else.

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