CHAPTER II.The New Boy.The Rev. Mr. Jebb and the new German master stood over the bed of James Talbot. The surgeon had been busy; he had extracted the shots from the leg, and pronounced the injury to be not material. Talbot must be kept quiet, he said, both in mind and body."It's a very strange affair," murmured the clergyman into Mr. Henry's ear. "Dr. Brabazon's opinion is, that it must have been Loftus minor, after all, who fired off the pistol.""It never was, then," unceremoniously spoke up the patient. "When Dick Loftus says he didn't do a thing, I know hedidn't.""You are not to talk, Talbot," interrupted Mr. Jebb: and the two gentlemen moved away from the bed. Mr. Henry began to ask who Dick Loftus was."He is brother to the second senior of the school," was the clergyman's reply. "You may have remarked Loftus major in chapel, from the circumstance that he read the lesson.""Which of the lessons? I noticed the readers of both.""The first lesson. The second was read by Trace.""Trace?" echoed Mr. Henry."You are thinking it an uncommon name. Raymond Trace; he is cousin to the Loftus boys. There's quite a romance attaching to their history," proceeded the clergyman, who was a bit of a gossip, and he dropped his voice as he spoke. "The two fathers were in partnership in Liverpool, stock and share brokers, quite a first-class house, and much respected. Unfortunately they took in a partner, and before two years were over he ruined them. He issued false shares, put forged bills in circulation—I hardly know what he did not do. They were quite ruined; at least, it was ruin compared to what their former wealth had been. The house was broken up; all its debts were paid; and Mr. Loftus retired to the Isle of Wight upon a small private property. He had lived there previously, never having taken a very practical part in the business. The other partner, Mr. Trace, went abroad, hoping to carve out a second fortune. I hear he is doing it.""And these are the sons?" observed the German master, after a pause."These are the sons. Mr. Loftus has several children, Mr. Trace only this one. Mrs. Loftus and Mrs. Trace were sisters. Their brother, Sir Simon Orville, a retired city man, lives here close to the college; he is some distant relative of its founder. The three boys were placed at it two years ago, and it is thought Sir Simon pays for them. They spend their vacations generally at his house: Trace always does. He has no other home in England: Mrs. Trace is dead."The injured boy stirred uneasily, and Mr. Henry hastened to him. "Do you feel much pain?" he kindly asked."Rather sharpish for that," was the answer. "I say, sir, you—you don't think I shall die?" and the bright brown eyes looked wistfully up at the master's, as the sudden anxious question was whispered. "It's my mother I am thinking of," added Talbot, by way of excuse."So far as I believe, there's no danger," replied Mr. Henry, bending down to him and pushing the hair off his hot brow. "Only put yourself trustingly into God's care, my boy—have you learnt to do it?—and rely upon it, all shall be for the best."Miss Brabazon and a nurse came into the room and the gentlemen prepared to leave it. Mr. Henry went first. Talbot put out his hand and detained Mr. Jebb."I say, sir, whoisthat?""The new foreign master. Do you keep yourself tranquil, Talbot."With the morning came the discipline of school rules. Talbot was going on quite favourably, and all outward excitement had subsided. The breakfast hour was half-past seven; from eight to a quarter-past the pupils from the masters' houses arrived, also those who lived altogether out of bounds, with their friends or in lodgings; slightingly called by the college, these latter, "outsiders." During this quarter of an hour the roll was called, and the boys did what they pleased: it was recreation with them. At a quarter-past eight the chapel bell called all to service.The boys stood in groups this morning in the quadrangle, not availing themselves of their liberty to be noisy during this quarter of an hour, but discussing in an undertone the startling events of the previous night. Dick Loftus had openly avowed the whole; and somebody, not Dick, had contrived to betray Mr. Smart's share in it. Dick protested that whoever had peered at them was a master: he judged by the cap. It appeared equally certain that it could not have been a master: the only masters arrived were Mr. Jebb and Mr. Long, and they, at this very selfsame hour, had been with Dr. Brabazon in his private study. But it was easy for any one of the senior boys to have taken up a master's trencher by mistake, or to have gone out in it wilfully to mislead. Had the boy, whoever it was, purposely shot Talbot? The opinion, rejected at first, was gaining ground now; led to, possibly, by the appropriation of the master's cap. Altogether it was a very unpleasant affair, enshrouded in some mystery.William Gall was there this morning, the senior of the school; a slight, short young man, the age of Loftus major, with an undoubted ugly face, but an honest one, and dark hair. There was not much good feeling existing between Gall and Loftus, as was well known, but it had never broken into an open explosion. Gall despised Loftus for his pride and his fopperies, his assumption of superiority and condescension; and Loftus looked down on Gall and his family as vulgar city people. The Galls lived at Orville Green, but the son was an in-door scholar. Mr. Gall was in some mysterious trade that had to do with tallow. There was plenty of money; but Loftus thought, on the whole, that it was out of the order of right things for the son of a tallow-man to be head of the college and senior overhim.Three or four new scholars came straggling in during this quarter of an hour, and they attracted the usual amount of attention and quizzing. One of them was a tall, agile, upright boy of sixteen, or rather more, with a handsome, open countenance, dark chestnut hair, and bright grey eyes. He stood looking about, as if uncertain where to go. Mr. Long went up to him."Are you belonging to the college?—a new student?""Yes.""If you pass through that side of the cloisters and turn to the left, you will find the call-room. Mr. Baker is there with the roll, inscribing the new names as they come in, and he will add yours. What is your name?""Paradyne."There was a free, frank sound in the voice, though the words spoken had been but two; and the boy lifted his hat (he would not get his cap and gown for a day or two) with somewhat of foreign courtesy as he turned away to the cloister. Mr. Henry, who had heard the name, hastened after him and overtook him in the cloister passage."You are George Paradyne?""Yes. And you are——""Mr. Henry."Their hands were locked together; they gazed into each other's face. "I don't think I should have known you," said the boy."No? I should have known you anywhere. It is the same face, not changed; but you have grown from a little boy into a great one.""Yourface is changed. It is thinner and paler, and—somehow——""Well?" said Mr. Henry, for the sentence had come to a stop midway. "Speak out.""It is a sadder sort of face than it used to he. Are you quite well?""Yes, I am well. I don't know that I am strong. Good-bye for now," hastily added Mr. Henry. "Mr. Long has told you where to go."The boy continued his way up the cloister, and another ran up to Mr. Henry—a second-desk boy named Powell."I say, sir, do you know that new fellow?""I used to know him," replied Mr. Henry. "But I have not seen him for several years.""Lamb says he thinks he is an outsider. I like the look of him. Where did you know him, Mr. Henry?""At the Heidelberg University. He was a young pupil there, when I was a junior master."Mr. Powell's face grew considerably longer. "At the Heidelberg University! Does he speak German?""He used to speak it perfectly. I dare say he does still.""That's blue, though," was the rejoinder. "I'm going in for the German prize: but who can stand against a fellow who has been in Germany? He's sure to be at our desk. What's his name, sir?""You will learn it in good time, no doubt," called back Mr. Henry, who was hastening away as if he were in a hurry. And Mr. Powell vaulted over the open cloister wall into the quadrangle: which was against rules.A few moments, and the chapel-bell rang out. The boys got their caps and gowns, and went into the call-room. Dr. Brabazon came up in his surplice and hood, and they followed him into chapel.Possibly it was because Mr. Trace had no duty to perform—for Gall and Loftus read the lessons—that his sight recreated itself with scanning the new scholars. Not so much the whole of them, and there were nine or ten, as one—George Paradyne. It was not a stare; Trace never stared; his eyes were drawn together so closely that even Paradyne himself could not have known he was being looked at; but nevertheless, so intent was Trace's gaze, so absorbed was he in the new face, that at the end of theTe Deumhe quite forgot to sit down, and remained standing, to the amusement of his friends."I wonder if itis," spoke Trace to himself, as they left the chapel. And he inquired of two or three what that new fellow's name was, but could not learn it."He's some crony of the new master's," spoke Powell; "I saw them shaking hands like mad. It'll be an awful shame for him to be put in our class, if heisup in German."Trace had not waited to hear the conclusion; the boys were hastening to take their places in school. On this morning, until their state of advancement could be ascertained, the fresh boys were ordered to a bench opposite the first desk. Trace, who sat next to Loftus, directed his attention to this new boy."Do you recognise him, Bertie?" he asked in a whisper."Recognise him? no," drawled Mr. Loftus, as if it were entirely beneath him to recognise any new fellow. And he could think of nothing but his pistols. Which Dr. Brabazon had taken possession of."Look at his face well," continued Trace. "Can you see no likeness to one you once knew?""Not I." And this time Mr. Loftus did not speak until he had taken a good look at the boy. "Don't know the face from Adam.""Well, perhaps I am mistaken," mused Trace. "It's a long while since I saw the other."But, nevertheless, in spite of this conclusion, Trace could not keep his eyes off the face, and his studies suffered. The boy went up to Dr. Brabazon for examination, as it was usual for a new scholar to do; and Trace's ears were bent to catch the sound of the voice, if haply it might hear recognition for his memory. The head master found the boy thoroughly well advanced in his studies, and a suspicion arose in the school that he would be placed at the first desk. Loftus heard somebody say it, and elevated his eyebrows in displeasure. When the school rose, Trace went up to Mr. Baker."I beg your pardon, sir; would you allow me to look for one minute at the roll?""At the roll?—what for?" returned Mr. Baker, who was a little man with a bald head."I think I know one of the new boys, sir. I want to see his name."There was no rule against showing the roll, and Mr. Baker took it out of his desk. Trace ran his finger down the new names—which were entered at the end until their places should be allotted—and it halted at one."George Paradyne!" he mentally read. "Thank you, sir," he said aloud, with the quiet civility characteristic of him: and Mr. Baker locked up the roll again.For once in his college life, a burning spot of emotion might have been seen on Raymond Trace's cheek. A foul injury, as he regarded it, had been done to his family and fortune by the father of George Paradyne; and he deemed that the son had no more right to be receiving his education with honest men's sons, as their equal and associate, than darkness has to be made hail-fellow-well-met with light. He went in search of Loftus. Loftus was leaning over the open wall, his legs in the cloisters, his head in the quadrangle, and his arm round a huge pillar, ruminating bitterly on the wrongs dealt out to himself, on Dick's wickedness, and the ignominy of possessing pistols that one can't get at."I thought I was not mistaken in the fellow," began Trace. "It is George Paradyne.""Who?" cried Loftus, starting round, aroused by the name."George Paradyne: Paradyne's son.""No! Do you mean that fellow you asked about? It can't be.""Itis. I knew him, I tell you; and I've been looking at the name on the roll. Your memory must be a bad one, Loftus, not to have recognised the face also."Loftus drew a deep breath, as if unable to take in the full sense of the words. But he neverdisplayedmuch surprise at anything."I don't suppose I saw the fellow three times in my life," he presently said. "We did not live on the spot, as you did; and it is so long ago.""What's to be done? He can't be allowed to stay here."Loftus shrugged his shoulders, French fashion, having no answer at hand. "Brabazon is not aware of who he is, I suppose?""Impossible; or he'd never have admitted him. One can overlook some things in a fellow's antecedents; butforgery—that's rather too strong. If the rest of the college chose to tolerate him, you and I and Dick could not."Mr. Loftus threw up his condemning nose at the latter addition. Dick, indeed! Dick seemed to be going in for something too bad on his own score, to be fastidious as to the society he kept."What's the matter?" inquired one of the first-class boys, Irby, coming up to them from the middle of the quadrangle, and leaning his arms on the cloister wall, to talk face to face."That new fellow, Paradyne—do you know which of them he is?" broke off Trace.Irby nodded. "A good-looking chap, don't you mean? Well up in his classics.""Well up in them by the help of stolen money, I suppose," spoke Trace, an angry light for a moment gleaming in his eye. "You have heard, Irby, of that dreadful business of ours at Liverpool, some four years ago, when Loftus & Trace, the best and richest and most respected firm in the town, were ruined through a man they had taken in as partner?""I've heard something of it," said Irby, wondering."This new fellow, Paradyne, is the man's son."Irby gave a low whistle. "Let's hear the particulars, Trace."And Trace proceeded to give them. Irby was a great friend of his, and there were no other ears in view. Loftus drew himself up against the pillar, and stood there with his arms folded, listening in silence; all of them unconscious that Mr. Henry was on the other side of the pillar, taking a sketch of the quadrangle and the door of the chapel.You heard something of the tale, reader, from Mr. Jebb last night, and there's not much more to be told. Trace, speaking quietly, as he always did, enlarged upon the wrongs dealt out to his father and Mr. Loftus, by the man Paradyne. It was the most miserable business that ever came out to the world, he said, blighting all their prospects for life; never a rogue, so great, went unhung."And he had only been with them a couple of years," he wound up with; "only a couple of years! The marvel was, that he could have done so much mischief in so short a time—""The marvel was, that he could have done it at all without being detected," interposed Loftus, speaking for the first time."Yes," corrected Trace; "people could not understand how he contrived to hoodwink my father. But that came of over-confidence: he had such blind trust in Paradyne.""Why did they take him in partner at all?" asked Irby."Ah, why indeed!" responded Trace, pushing his trencher up with a petulant jerk, as if the past transaction were a present and personal wrong. "But the business had grown too large for one head, and Mr. Loftus was almost a sleeping partner. Who was to suppose it would turn out so? If we could only foresee the end of things at the beginning!""Let it drop, Trace," said Loftus. "It's not so pleasant a thing to recall.""The fellow called himself Captain Paradyne; he came introduced to them grandly," resumed Trace, in utter disregard of the interruption. "Of course he dropped the 'Captain' when he joined them.""Was the man hung?" questioned Irby."Neither hung nor transported; he saved himself. On the evening of his first examination before the magistrates," continued Trace, "after he was put back in the cell, he took poison."Irby's eyes grew round with awe. "What a wicked simpleton he must have been to do that! Poor fellow, though," he added, a feeling of compassion stealing over him, "I dare say he—""When you undertake to relate a history, gentlemen, you should confine yourselves to the truth. Mr. Paradyne did not take poison. He died of heart disease, brought on by excitement."The interruption was Mr. Henry's. He quietly put his head round the pillar, and then came into full view, with his sketch-book and pencil."How do you know anything about it?" demanded Trace, recovering from his surprise."I do happen to know about it," was the calm answer. "The case was bad enough, as Heaven knew; but you need not make it worse.""It was reported that he took poison," persisted Trace."Only at the first moment. When he was found dead, people naturally leaped to that conclusion, and the newspapers published it as a fact. But on the inquest it was proved by the medical men that he had died from natural causes. I think," added Mr. Henry, in a dreamy kind of tone, "that that report arose in mercy."The three boys stared at him questioningly."To his friends the business of itself was cruel enough—the discovery that he, whom they had so respected as the soul of honour, was unworthy," pursued the master. "Then followed the worse report of his self-destruction, and in that shock of horror the other was lost—was as nothing. But when the truth came to light on the following day—that he had not laid guilty hands on himself, but that God had taken him,—why, the revulsion of feeling, the thankfulness, was so great as to seem like a very boon from Heaven. It enabled them to bear the disgrace as a lesser evil: the blow had lost its sting.""Did you know him?" questioned Trace."I knew him in Germany. And these particulars, when they occurred, were written over to me.""Perhaps you respected him in Germany?" cynically added Trace, who could not speak or think coldly of the unfortunate Captain Paradyne with his usual degree of equable temper."I never respected any one so much," avowed Mr. Henry, a scarlet spot of hectic arising in his pale cheeks.Trace made no rejoinder. To contend was not his habit. It was impossible he could think worse of any one than of the unhappy man in question, and nothing had ever convinced Trace fully that the death was a natural one."He has been dead four years," gently suggested Mr. Henry, as if bespeaking their mercy for his memory. "As to his son, it must be a question for Dr. Brabazon of course whether or not he remains here; but I would ask you what he, the boy, has done, that you should visit the past upon him? Can you not imagine that the calamity itself is a sufficient blight on his life? Be generous, and do not proclaim him to the school.""It would be more generous not to do it," candidly avowed Irby, who had a good-natured, ready tongue. "Of course it was not the boy's fault; we shall lose nothing by it.""Lose!" repeated Mr. Henry. "If you only knew the gain! There's not a kind action that we ever do, but insures its own reward; there's not a word of ill-nature, a secret deed of malice, but comes home to us fourfold, sooner or later. Look out carefully as you go through life, and see whether I do not tell you truth.""Young Paradyne is free for me," said Loftus, speaking up frankly. And Irby nodded his head in acquiescence."Thank you greatly; I shall take it as a kindness shown myself," said Mr. Henry. He turned and looked at Trace."Of course, if Mr. Henry wishes the thing to be hushed up, and Dr. Brabazon to be left in ignorance——""Stay," said the master, interrupting Trace's words. "You heard me say a moment ago that it must be a question for Dr. Brabazon whether or not Paradyne remains here. But I think that Dr. Brabazon would, in either event, counsel you not to denounce the boy publicly.""I am not given to denounce my companions publicly; or privately either: as you perhaps will find when you are used to us," was Trace's rejoinder, delivered with civility. "If the doctor condones the past, why, let it be condoned; I can't say more. But the sooner the question is decided, the better.""Undoubtedly."Mr. Henry turned round with the last word, and applied himself to his drawing. Loftus and Irby strolled away, and Trace besought an interview with Dr. Brabazon. It was at once accorded; and he told him who Paradyne was. To do Trace justice, he spoke without prejudice; not alluding minutely to past facts, but simply saying that the new scholar, George Paradyne, was the son of the man who had committed all sorts of ill, and ruined his father and Mr. Loftus."And you and Loftus think you can't study with him!" observed the doctor, when he had listened, and asked a few questions."I did not say that, sir: it is for you to decide. We shall get over the unpleasantness by degrees, no doubt, if he does stay on.""Very well, Trace; I'll consider of it. Keep a strictly silent tongue about it in the college."The interview did not last many minutes. Soon after its termination, an authoritative cry was heard down the cloisters for Loftus major."Here," shouted Loftus from the other end of the quadrangle."You are to go in to the Head Master."Away went Loftus in his indolent fashion; he rarely hurried himself for anything. Dr. Brabazon met him at his study door: he put into his hands a parcel tied with string, and sealed at the ends with the doctor's seal."Your pistols, Loftus. I shall have something to say to you later, in regard to them and the calamity you have most unjustifiably been the means of causing. Take them back at once; and make my compliments to Sir Simon, and say I particularly wish to see him. Perhaps he will oblige me by coming over: to-day, if possible. You'll be back to dinner, if you put your best foot foremost."Mr. Loftus flung on his gown and cap, and went away with the parcel in an access of private rage. It was so mortifying! it was the very acme of humiliation!—a dog with a burnt tail could feel jolly, in comparison. Some of the middle-school boys, leaping over the road from the plantation, came right upon him. That incorrigible Dick was one of them, and he recognized the parcel."It's the pistols," proclaimed Dick. "Brabazon has turned them out. I say, Bertie, though, that's not so bad; we had bets that he'd confiscate them.""A pity but he could confiscate you," was the scornful retort thrown back.Dick laughed. The throng echoed it. But Mr. Loftus went on his way, and made no further sign, his fine figure drawn to its full height, and his nose held in the air.
The Rev. Mr. Jebb and the new German master stood over the bed of James Talbot. The surgeon had been busy; he had extracted the shots from the leg, and pronounced the injury to be not material. Talbot must be kept quiet, he said, both in mind and body.
"It's a very strange affair," murmured the clergyman into Mr. Henry's ear. "Dr. Brabazon's opinion is, that it must have been Loftus minor, after all, who fired off the pistol."
"It never was, then," unceremoniously spoke up the patient. "When Dick Loftus says he didn't do a thing, I know hedidn't."
"You are not to talk, Talbot," interrupted Mr. Jebb: and the two gentlemen moved away from the bed. Mr. Henry began to ask who Dick Loftus was.
"He is brother to the second senior of the school," was the clergyman's reply. "You may have remarked Loftus major in chapel, from the circumstance that he read the lesson."
"Which of the lessons? I noticed the readers of both."
"The first lesson. The second was read by Trace."
"Trace?" echoed Mr. Henry.
"You are thinking it an uncommon name. Raymond Trace; he is cousin to the Loftus boys. There's quite a romance attaching to their history," proceeded the clergyman, who was a bit of a gossip, and he dropped his voice as he spoke. "The two fathers were in partnership in Liverpool, stock and share brokers, quite a first-class house, and much respected. Unfortunately they took in a partner, and before two years were over he ruined them. He issued false shares, put forged bills in circulation—I hardly know what he did not do. They were quite ruined; at least, it was ruin compared to what their former wealth had been. The house was broken up; all its debts were paid; and Mr. Loftus retired to the Isle of Wight upon a small private property. He had lived there previously, never having taken a very practical part in the business. The other partner, Mr. Trace, went abroad, hoping to carve out a second fortune. I hear he is doing it."
"And these are the sons?" observed the German master, after a pause.
"These are the sons. Mr. Loftus has several children, Mr. Trace only this one. Mrs. Loftus and Mrs. Trace were sisters. Their brother, Sir Simon Orville, a retired city man, lives here close to the college; he is some distant relative of its founder. The three boys were placed at it two years ago, and it is thought Sir Simon pays for them. They spend their vacations generally at his house: Trace always does. He has no other home in England: Mrs. Trace is dead."
The injured boy stirred uneasily, and Mr. Henry hastened to him. "Do you feel much pain?" he kindly asked.
"Rather sharpish for that," was the answer. "I say, sir, you—you don't think I shall die?" and the bright brown eyes looked wistfully up at the master's, as the sudden anxious question was whispered. "It's my mother I am thinking of," added Talbot, by way of excuse.
"So far as I believe, there's no danger," replied Mr. Henry, bending down to him and pushing the hair off his hot brow. "Only put yourself trustingly into God's care, my boy—have you learnt to do it?—and rely upon it, all shall be for the best."
Miss Brabazon and a nurse came into the room and the gentlemen prepared to leave it. Mr. Henry went first. Talbot put out his hand and detained Mr. Jebb.
"I say, sir, whoisthat?"
"The new foreign master. Do you keep yourself tranquil, Talbot."
With the morning came the discipline of school rules. Talbot was going on quite favourably, and all outward excitement had subsided. The breakfast hour was half-past seven; from eight to a quarter-past the pupils from the masters' houses arrived, also those who lived altogether out of bounds, with their friends or in lodgings; slightingly called by the college, these latter, "outsiders." During this quarter of an hour the roll was called, and the boys did what they pleased: it was recreation with them. At a quarter-past eight the chapel bell called all to service.
The boys stood in groups this morning in the quadrangle, not availing themselves of their liberty to be noisy during this quarter of an hour, but discussing in an undertone the startling events of the previous night. Dick Loftus had openly avowed the whole; and somebody, not Dick, had contrived to betray Mr. Smart's share in it. Dick protested that whoever had peered at them was a master: he judged by the cap. It appeared equally certain that it could not have been a master: the only masters arrived were Mr. Jebb and Mr. Long, and they, at this very selfsame hour, had been with Dr. Brabazon in his private study. But it was easy for any one of the senior boys to have taken up a master's trencher by mistake, or to have gone out in it wilfully to mislead. Had the boy, whoever it was, purposely shot Talbot? The opinion, rejected at first, was gaining ground now; led to, possibly, by the appropriation of the master's cap. Altogether it was a very unpleasant affair, enshrouded in some mystery.
William Gall was there this morning, the senior of the school; a slight, short young man, the age of Loftus major, with an undoubted ugly face, but an honest one, and dark hair. There was not much good feeling existing between Gall and Loftus, as was well known, but it had never broken into an open explosion. Gall despised Loftus for his pride and his fopperies, his assumption of superiority and condescension; and Loftus looked down on Gall and his family as vulgar city people. The Galls lived at Orville Green, but the son was an in-door scholar. Mr. Gall was in some mysterious trade that had to do with tallow. There was plenty of money; but Loftus thought, on the whole, that it was out of the order of right things for the son of a tallow-man to be head of the college and senior overhim.
Three or four new scholars came straggling in during this quarter of an hour, and they attracted the usual amount of attention and quizzing. One of them was a tall, agile, upright boy of sixteen, or rather more, with a handsome, open countenance, dark chestnut hair, and bright grey eyes. He stood looking about, as if uncertain where to go. Mr. Long went up to him.
"Are you belonging to the college?—a new student?"
"Yes."
"If you pass through that side of the cloisters and turn to the left, you will find the call-room. Mr. Baker is there with the roll, inscribing the new names as they come in, and he will add yours. What is your name?"
"Paradyne."
There was a free, frank sound in the voice, though the words spoken had been but two; and the boy lifted his hat (he would not get his cap and gown for a day or two) with somewhat of foreign courtesy as he turned away to the cloister. Mr. Henry, who had heard the name, hastened after him and overtook him in the cloister passage.
"You are George Paradyne?"
"Yes. And you are——"
"Mr. Henry."
Their hands were locked together; they gazed into each other's face. "I don't think I should have known you," said the boy.
"No? I should have known you anywhere. It is the same face, not changed; but you have grown from a little boy into a great one."
"Yourface is changed. It is thinner and paler, and—somehow——"
"Well?" said Mr. Henry, for the sentence had come to a stop midway. "Speak out."
"It is a sadder sort of face than it used to he. Are you quite well?"
"Yes, I am well. I don't know that I am strong. Good-bye for now," hastily added Mr. Henry. "Mr. Long has told you where to go."
The boy continued his way up the cloister, and another ran up to Mr. Henry—a second-desk boy named Powell.
"I say, sir, do you know that new fellow?"
"I used to know him," replied Mr. Henry. "But I have not seen him for several years."
"Lamb says he thinks he is an outsider. I like the look of him. Where did you know him, Mr. Henry?"
"At the Heidelberg University. He was a young pupil there, when I was a junior master."
Mr. Powell's face grew considerably longer. "At the Heidelberg University! Does he speak German?"
"He used to speak it perfectly. I dare say he does still."
"That's blue, though," was the rejoinder. "I'm going in for the German prize: but who can stand against a fellow who has been in Germany? He's sure to be at our desk. What's his name, sir?"
"You will learn it in good time, no doubt," called back Mr. Henry, who was hastening away as if he were in a hurry. And Mr. Powell vaulted over the open cloister wall into the quadrangle: which was against rules.
A few moments, and the chapel-bell rang out. The boys got their caps and gowns, and went into the call-room. Dr. Brabazon came up in his surplice and hood, and they followed him into chapel.
Possibly it was because Mr. Trace had no duty to perform—for Gall and Loftus read the lessons—that his sight recreated itself with scanning the new scholars. Not so much the whole of them, and there were nine or ten, as one—George Paradyne. It was not a stare; Trace never stared; his eyes were drawn together so closely that even Paradyne himself could not have known he was being looked at; but nevertheless, so intent was Trace's gaze, so absorbed was he in the new face, that at the end of theTe Deumhe quite forgot to sit down, and remained standing, to the amusement of his friends.
"I wonder if itis," spoke Trace to himself, as they left the chapel. And he inquired of two or three what that new fellow's name was, but could not learn it.
"He's some crony of the new master's," spoke Powell; "I saw them shaking hands like mad. It'll be an awful shame for him to be put in our class, if heisup in German."
Trace had not waited to hear the conclusion; the boys were hastening to take their places in school. On this morning, until their state of advancement could be ascertained, the fresh boys were ordered to a bench opposite the first desk. Trace, who sat next to Loftus, directed his attention to this new boy.
"Do you recognise him, Bertie?" he asked in a whisper.
"Recognise him? no," drawled Mr. Loftus, as if it were entirely beneath him to recognise any new fellow. And he could think of nothing but his pistols. Which Dr. Brabazon had taken possession of.
"Look at his face well," continued Trace. "Can you see no likeness to one you once knew?"
"Not I." And this time Mr. Loftus did not speak until he had taken a good look at the boy. "Don't know the face from Adam."
"Well, perhaps I am mistaken," mused Trace. "It's a long while since I saw the other."
But, nevertheless, in spite of this conclusion, Trace could not keep his eyes off the face, and his studies suffered. The boy went up to Dr. Brabazon for examination, as it was usual for a new scholar to do; and Trace's ears were bent to catch the sound of the voice, if haply it might hear recognition for his memory. The head master found the boy thoroughly well advanced in his studies, and a suspicion arose in the school that he would be placed at the first desk. Loftus heard somebody say it, and elevated his eyebrows in displeasure. When the school rose, Trace went up to Mr. Baker.
"I beg your pardon, sir; would you allow me to look for one minute at the roll?"
"At the roll?—what for?" returned Mr. Baker, who was a little man with a bald head.
"I think I know one of the new boys, sir. I want to see his name."
There was no rule against showing the roll, and Mr. Baker took it out of his desk. Trace ran his finger down the new names—which were entered at the end until their places should be allotted—and it halted at one.
"George Paradyne!" he mentally read. "Thank you, sir," he said aloud, with the quiet civility characteristic of him: and Mr. Baker locked up the roll again.
For once in his college life, a burning spot of emotion might have been seen on Raymond Trace's cheek. A foul injury, as he regarded it, had been done to his family and fortune by the father of George Paradyne; and he deemed that the son had no more right to be receiving his education with honest men's sons, as their equal and associate, than darkness has to be made hail-fellow-well-met with light. He went in search of Loftus. Loftus was leaning over the open wall, his legs in the cloisters, his head in the quadrangle, and his arm round a huge pillar, ruminating bitterly on the wrongs dealt out to himself, on Dick's wickedness, and the ignominy of possessing pistols that one can't get at.
"I thought I was not mistaken in the fellow," began Trace. "It is George Paradyne."
"Who?" cried Loftus, starting round, aroused by the name.
"George Paradyne: Paradyne's son."
"No! Do you mean that fellow you asked about? It can't be."
"Itis. I knew him, I tell you; and I've been looking at the name on the roll. Your memory must be a bad one, Loftus, not to have recognised the face also."
Loftus drew a deep breath, as if unable to take in the full sense of the words. But he neverdisplayedmuch surprise at anything.
"I don't suppose I saw the fellow three times in my life," he presently said. "We did not live on the spot, as you did; and it is so long ago."
"What's to be done? He can't be allowed to stay here."
Loftus shrugged his shoulders, French fashion, having no answer at hand. "Brabazon is not aware of who he is, I suppose?"
"Impossible; or he'd never have admitted him. One can overlook some things in a fellow's antecedents; butforgery—that's rather too strong. If the rest of the college chose to tolerate him, you and I and Dick could not."
Mr. Loftus threw up his condemning nose at the latter addition. Dick, indeed! Dick seemed to be going in for something too bad on his own score, to be fastidious as to the society he kept.
"What's the matter?" inquired one of the first-class boys, Irby, coming up to them from the middle of the quadrangle, and leaning his arms on the cloister wall, to talk face to face.
"That new fellow, Paradyne—do you know which of them he is?" broke off Trace.
Irby nodded. "A good-looking chap, don't you mean? Well up in his classics."
"Well up in them by the help of stolen money, I suppose," spoke Trace, an angry light for a moment gleaming in his eye. "You have heard, Irby, of that dreadful business of ours at Liverpool, some four years ago, when Loftus & Trace, the best and richest and most respected firm in the town, were ruined through a man they had taken in as partner?"
"I've heard something of it," said Irby, wondering.
"This new fellow, Paradyne, is the man's son."
Irby gave a low whistle. "Let's hear the particulars, Trace."
And Trace proceeded to give them. Irby was a great friend of his, and there were no other ears in view. Loftus drew himself up against the pillar, and stood there with his arms folded, listening in silence; all of them unconscious that Mr. Henry was on the other side of the pillar, taking a sketch of the quadrangle and the door of the chapel.
You heard something of the tale, reader, from Mr. Jebb last night, and there's not much more to be told. Trace, speaking quietly, as he always did, enlarged upon the wrongs dealt out to his father and Mr. Loftus, by the man Paradyne. It was the most miserable business that ever came out to the world, he said, blighting all their prospects for life; never a rogue, so great, went unhung.
"And he had only been with them a couple of years," he wound up with; "only a couple of years! The marvel was, that he could have done so much mischief in so short a time—"
"The marvel was, that he could have done it at all without being detected," interposed Loftus, speaking for the first time.
"Yes," corrected Trace; "people could not understand how he contrived to hoodwink my father. But that came of over-confidence: he had such blind trust in Paradyne."
"Why did they take him in partner at all?" asked Irby.
"Ah, why indeed!" responded Trace, pushing his trencher up with a petulant jerk, as if the past transaction were a present and personal wrong. "But the business had grown too large for one head, and Mr. Loftus was almost a sleeping partner. Who was to suppose it would turn out so? If we could only foresee the end of things at the beginning!"
"Let it drop, Trace," said Loftus. "It's not so pleasant a thing to recall."
"The fellow called himself Captain Paradyne; he came introduced to them grandly," resumed Trace, in utter disregard of the interruption. "Of course he dropped the 'Captain' when he joined them."
"Was the man hung?" questioned Irby.
"Neither hung nor transported; he saved himself. On the evening of his first examination before the magistrates," continued Trace, "after he was put back in the cell, he took poison."
Irby's eyes grew round with awe. "What a wicked simpleton he must have been to do that! Poor fellow, though," he added, a feeling of compassion stealing over him, "I dare say he—"
"When you undertake to relate a history, gentlemen, you should confine yourselves to the truth. Mr. Paradyne did not take poison. He died of heart disease, brought on by excitement."
The interruption was Mr. Henry's. He quietly put his head round the pillar, and then came into full view, with his sketch-book and pencil.
"How do you know anything about it?" demanded Trace, recovering from his surprise.
"I do happen to know about it," was the calm answer. "The case was bad enough, as Heaven knew; but you need not make it worse."
"It was reported that he took poison," persisted Trace.
"Only at the first moment. When he was found dead, people naturally leaped to that conclusion, and the newspapers published it as a fact. But on the inquest it was proved by the medical men that he had died from natural causes. I think," added Mr. Henry, in a dreamy kind of tone, "that that report arose in mercy."
The three boys stared at him questioningly.
"To his friends the business of itself was cruel enough—the discovery that he, whom they had so respected as the soul of honour, was unworthy," pursued the master. "Then followed the worse report of his self-destruction, and in that shock of horror the other was lost—was as nothing. But when the truth came to light on the following day—that he had not laid guilty hands on himself, but that God had taken him,—why, the revulsion of feeling, the thankfulness, was so great as to seem like a very boon from Heaven. It enabled them to bear the disgrace as a lesser evil: the blow had lost its sting."
"Did you know him?" questioned Trace.
"I knew him in Germany. And these particulars, when they occurred, were written over to me."
"Perhaps you respected him in Germany?" cynically added Trace, who could not speak or think coldly of the unfortunate Captain Paradyne with his usual degree of equable temper.
"I never respected any one so much," avowed Mr. Henry, a scarlet spot of hectic arising in his pale cheeks.
Trace made no rejoinder. To contend was not his habit. It was impossible he could think worse of any one than of the unhappy man in question, and nothing had ever convinced Trace fully that the death was a natural one.
"He has been dead four years," gently suggested Mr. Henry, as if bespeaking their mercy for his memory. "As to his son, it must be a question for Dr. Brabazon of course whether or not he remains here; but I would ask you what he, the boy, has done, that you should visit the past upon him? Can you not imagine that the calamity itself is a sufficient blight on his life? Be generous, and do not proclaim him to the school."
"It would be more generous not to do it," candidly avowed Irby, who had a good-natured, ready tongue. "Of course it was not the boy's fault; we shall lose nothing by it."
"Lose!" repeated Mr. Henry. "If you only knew the gain! There's not a kind action that we ever do, but insures its own reward; there's not a word of ill-nature, a secret deed of malice, but comes home to us fourfold, sooner or later. Look out carefully as you go through life, and see whether I do not tell you truth."
"Young Paradyne is free for me," said Loftus, speaking up frankly. And Irby nodded his head in acquiescence.
"Thank you greatly; I shall take it as a kindness shown myself," said Mr. Henry. He turned and looked at Trace.
"Of course, if Mr. Henry wishes the thing to be hushed up, and Dr. Brabazon to be left in ignorance——"
"Stay," said the master, interrupting Trace's words. "You heard me say a moment ago that it must be a question for Dr. Brabazon whether or not Paradyne remains here. But I think that Dr. Brabazon would, in either event, counsel you not to denounce the boy publicly."
"I am not given to denounce my companions publicly; or privately either: as you perhaps will find when you are used to us," was Trace's rejoinder, delivered with civility. "If the doctor condones the past, why, let it be condoned; I can't say more. But the sooner the question is decided, the better."
"Undoubtedly."
Mr. Henry turned round with the last word, and applied himself to his drawing. Loftus and Irby strolled away, and Trace besought an interview with Dr. Brabazon. It was at once accorded; and he told him who Paradyne was. To do Trace justice, he spoke without prejudice; not alluding minutely to past facts, but simply saying that the new scholar, George Paradyne, was the son of the man who had committed all sorts of ill, and ruined his father and Mr. Loftus.
"And you and Loftus think you can't study with him!" observed the doctor, when he had listened, and asked a few questions.
"I did not say that, sir: it is for you to decide. We shall get over the unpleasantness by degrees, no doubt, if he does stay on."
"Very well, Trace; I'll consider of it. Keep a strictly silent tongue about it in the college."
The interview did not last many minutes. Soon after its termination, an authoritative cry was heard down the cloisters for Loftus major.
"Here," shouted Loftus from the other end of the quadrangle.
"You are to go in to the Head Master."
Away went Loftus in his indolent fashion; he rarely hurried himself for anything. Dr. Brabazon met him at his study door: he put into his hands a parcel tied with string, and sealed at the ends with the doctor's seal.
"Your pistols, Loftus. I shall have something to say to you later, in regard to them and the calamity you have most unjustifiably been the means of causing. Take them back at once; and make my compliments to Sir Simon, and say I particularly wish to see him. Perhaps he will oblige me by coming over: to-day, if possible. You'll be back to dinner, if you put your best foot foremost."
Mr. Loftus flung on his gown and cap, and went away with the parcel in an access of private rage. It was so mortifying! it was the very acme of humiliation!—a dog with a burnt tail could feel jolly, in comparison. Some of the middle-school boys, leaping over the road from the plantation, came right upon him. That incorrigible Dick was one of them, and he recognized the parcel.
"It's the pistols," proclaimed Dick. "Brabazon has turned them out. I say, Bertie, though, that's not so bad; we had bets that he'd confiscate them."
"A pity but he could confiscate you," was the scornful retort thrown back.
Dick laughed. The throng echoed it. But Mr. Loftus went on his way, and made no further sign, his fine figure drawn to its full height, and his nose held in the air.