CHAPTER IX.Christmas Day.Some weeks elapsed. Things had blown over, and the Christmas holidays were coming on. Wonders and calamities; and, in some degree, suspicions; yield to the soothing hand of time. Talbot's accident was almost forgotten; the lost pencil (never found) was not thought of so much as it had been, and the gossip respecting it had ceased.The bitterness had not lessened against George Paradyne. Gall could not fathom its source. There was no cause for it, as far as he knew, except that the boy had been placed at once at the first desk, and had entered his name for the Orville prize; both of which facts were highly presumptuous in a new scholar, and an outsider. It was also known that he was in the habit of flying to Mrs. Butter's house for help in his studies: the boys supposed that the German (as they derisively called Mr. Henry) was paid for giving it: and many an ill-natured sneer was levelled at them both."Are you going to coach Paradyne through the holidays?" asked Trace of Mr. Henry, condescending to address him for once in a way: and be it remarked that when Trace so far unbended, he did not forget his usual civility. But Mr. Henry always detected the inward feeling."Trace," he said, every tone betraying earnest kindness, "you spend the holidays at Sir Simon's, therefore I shall be within reach. Come to me, and let me read with you: I know you are anxious to get the Orville. Come every day; I will do my very best to push you on.""You are a finished scholar?" observed Trace, cynically."As finished as any master in the college. When a young man knows (as I did) that he has nothing else to trust to, he is wise to make use of his opportunities. I believe also that I have a peculiar aptitude for teaching. Come and try me.""What would be your terms?""Nothing. I would do it for"—he laughed as he spoke—"love. Oh, Trace, I wish you would let me help you! I wish I could get you to believe that it would be one pleasure in my lonely life.""What a hypocrite!" thought Trace: "I wonder what he's saying it for? Thank you," he rejoined aloud, with distant coldness; "I shall not require your assistance." And so the offer terminated; and Trace, speaking of it to Loftus, said it was like the fellow's impudence to make it.One thing had been particularly noticeable throughout the term—that the young German usher seemed to have a facility for healing breaches. In ill-feelings, in quarrellings, in fightings, so sure was he to step in, and not only stop the angry tongues, but soothe their owners down to calmness. Rage, in his hands, became peace; mountains of evil melted down to molehills; fierce recrimination gave place to hand-shaking. He did all so quietly, so pleasantly, so patiently! and, but for the under-current of feeling against him that was being always secretly fanned, he would have been an immense favourite. Putting aside the untoward events at its commencement, the term had been one of the most satisfactory on record.Loftus and his brother, Trace, James Talbot, and Irby were spending the holidays at Pond Place. Sir Simon Orville generally had two of the boys, besides his nephews. They had wanted Irby and Leek this time; but Sir Simon chose to invite Talbot, and gave them their choice of the other two. And it happened that Sir Simon, the day after their arrival, overheard Trace and Loftus talking of sundry matters, and became cognisant of the offer made to Trace by Mr. Henry."And you didn't accept it, Raymond?" he asked, plunging suddenly upon the two in his flowery dressing-gown. "If I were going in for the Orville competition, I shouldn't have sneezed at it. This comes of your pride: you won't study with Paradyne.""No, it does not, uncle," replied Trace; "though I should object to study with Paradyne. It comes of my dislike to Mr. Henry.""What is there to dislike in Mr. Henry?"Trace hesitated, making no direct reply. Bertie Loftus moved away. Sir Simon pressed his question.Wisely or unwisely, Trace, in his ill-nature, forgot his ordinary caution, his long-continued silence, and disclosed the suspicions attaching to Mr. Henry in regard to the lost pencil. It was so delightful a temptation to speak against him! Loftus came back during the recital, and curled his lip in silent condemnation of Trace."Look here," said Sir Simon, wrathfully, "I'd rather suspect one of you."Loftus went away again without making any answer. Trace smiled very grandly compassionate."You were always suspicious, Trace," continued Sir Simon; "it's in your nature to be so, as it was in your poor mother's. He's a kindly, honest gentleman, so far as I've seen of him. Steal a pencil, indeed! Who rose the report? You?""There has not been any report," said Trace, with composure."Lamb saw him before the study window that night, and we wondered whether he had come in and taken it. The doubt was hushed up, and has died away.""Not hushed up as far as you go, it seems. Raymond, I'd——"Talbot and Dick Loftus came running in, and Sir Simon changed the private bearings of the subject, for the more open one of Raymond's pride, as he called it, in not accepting Mr. Henry's offer."Giving him two hours a day in the holidays!" exclaimed Talbot. "I wish it had been made to me!""You do!" cried Sir Simon. "I suppose you hope to get the prize yourself?""I shall try my best for it, sir," said the boy, laughing. "Seventy pounds a year for three years! It would take me to Oxford; and there's no other chance of my getting there."Holidays for everybody but poor Mr. Henry! He was slaving on. He took George Paradyne for two hours a day; he took another boy, one of the outsiders, who was poor, friendless, and very backward; receiving nothing for either; he gave Miss Rose Brabazon her daily lessons, French one day, German the next, alternately; he went to Mrs. Gall's, to drill three of her little boys, not out at school yet, in Latin and Greek; and he worked hard at his translation, which translation was a very difficult one to get on quickly with, necessitating continual references to abstruse works; for Mr. Henry discovered numerous errors in the original, and desired, in his conscientiousness, to set them right in the English version.He was at home one morning, a few days after the holidays began, buried in his translation books, marking the faults in Miss Rose Brabazon's last French dictation—and he believed nobody else could have made so many—when Sir Simon Orville walked in. The sweet, kind, patient expression in Mr. Henry's face had always struck him: very patient and wearied did it look to-day. It was Christmas Eve."Hard at work? But this is holiday time, Mr. Henry."Mr. Henry smiled and brightened up. "Some of us don't get the chance of any holiday, Sir Simon," he cheerfully said, as if it were a good joke."Bad, that! All work and no play, you know but I'd better not enlarge on that axiom," broke off Sir Simon, "since my errand here is to give you more work. Of the boys whose names are down for the Orville, one comes to you daily, I hear.""Yes; Paradyne," replied Mr. Henry, feeling rather sensitive at mentioning the name which must be so unwelcome to the brother of the late Mrs. Trace."Ay, Paradyne. You made an offer to my nephew, Raymond Trace, to take him also for the holidays, I hear. And he declined.""I should have been so glad to be of service to him!" returned Mr. Henry, his eyes lighting with the earnestness of the wish."The prejudiced young jackass!" explosively cried Sir Simon. "Well, the loss is his. But now, I want you to make the same offer to another, one who won't refuse it; and that's Talbot—Lord Shrewsbury, as they call him. He's staying with me—you know it, perhaps—and he can come to you daily. The boy has only his education to look to in life; he does not possess a golden horde laid up in lavender to make ducks and drakes of when he comes of age, as some of the rascals do; and through those other two bright nephews of mine his studies were stopped for some four or five weeks. Will you take him?""Yes, and gladly, Sir Simon. He—perhaps"—Mr. Henry paused and hesitated—"will have no objection to study with young Paradyne?""He'd better not let me hear of it, if he has," retorted Sir Simon. "Why should he? Paradyne and his people have not hurthim. No, no; Talbot's another sort of fellow to that. And now, what shall we say about terms? Don't be afraid of laying it on, Mr. Henry; it's my treat.""I could not charge," said Mr. Henry, interrupting the cheering laugh. "Excuse me, Sir Simon; but I am not helping the boys for money. It would scarcely be an honourable thing. I am well paid by Dr. Brabazon; and any little assistance I can give them out of school is only their due.""But you are not paid to teach them Latin and Greek and mathematics. You have the right to make the most of your holidays.""I scarcely see that I have, so far as the college pupils are concerned. Let Talbot come to me at once, Sir Simon; but please say no more about payment. Robbing me of my time? No, indeed, not of a minute, if he comes with Paradyne: their studies are the same. As to any little trouble of my own, I would not think of accepting money for that. I am too glad to give it."Sir Simon nodded approvingly; he liked the generosity of the feeling, and shook Mr. Henry's hand heartily as he went out."The cocked-up young Pharisee!" he soliloquized, apostrophizing the unconscious Trace, and dashing an enormous gig umbrella, that he had brought as a walking-stick, into the ground. "If ever there was an honest, honourable, good spirit, it's his I have just left. Mr. Trace and his uncharitable suspicions will get taken down some day, as sure as he is living."Turning into the college, he went straight on to the sitting-room, where Miss Brabazon was, to all appearance, alone. Rose was behind the curtain at the far end of the room, ostensibly learning her German, for Mr. Henry would be due in ten minutes; really buried in a charming fairy-tale book, lent to her by Jessie Gall. And her sister had forgotten she was there."What is it that these rascally boys have picked up against that poor young German master?" began Sir Simon, in his impulsive fashion. "Do you know, Miss Emma?"Emma Brabazon laid down the pretty baskets of flowers she was arranging for the evening; for her married brothers and sisters and their children were coming that day on their usual Christmas sojourn. But she did not answer."Trace has been talking to me about the lost pencil," resumed Sir Simon. "Butsurelyit is a slander to suspect him of having taken it. Miss Emma, I'd lay my life he is as honest as I am; and he's a vast deal more of a gentleman.""It was very foolish of Trace to speak of it," she said. "Pray forget it, Sir Simon. The thing has dropped.""But did you suspect him? You must forgive me, my dear, for asking you these questions; I intended to ask Dr. Brabazon, not you, but I find he is out.""And I am very glad he is, Sir Simon, for I have never told papa. There were circumstances that seemed to throw a suspicion on Mr. Henry at the time, but they were so doubtful that it was best not to speak of them; and I desired Trace—who was the one to bring them under my notice—to let them die away.""Oh, Trace brought them to you, did he? But how do you mean they were doubtful?""In so far as that Mr. Henry, if applied to, might have been able to explain them all away. It would have been very cruel to bring accusation against any one on grounds so slight.""Just so. Well, my dear lady, I'd stake Pond Place against Mr. Raymond Trace's prejudices, that the young man is as upright as he is—perhaps more so. We poor sinners shan't be able to stand in Master Trace's presence with our hats on soon; he must be going on for heaven head-foremost, he must, with all this self-righteousness."Emma Brabazon laughed, and followed Sir Simon out, talking. Upon which Miss Rose emerged from her hiding-place to escape, her German book in her hand, and the fairy tale stuffed up her frock."What did they mean?" debated the young lady, who had but imperfectly understood. "If I could find out, I'd tell him. He is always kind to me with my German, though I am so tiresome. I hate that Trace: he never gives me anything; and he stole one of my letters out of Dick's drawer the other day, and made game of it."People called Sir Simon Orville an odd man. Mr. Raymond Trace in particular could not understand him; there were moments when that young gentleman deemed his respected uncle fit only for a lunatic asylum. He had surely thought him so this morning, had he been behind him. For Sir Simon, quitting Dr. Brabazon's, went on direct to Mrs. Paradyne's. It was not the first visit he had paid her in her present residence. Deprecating, as he did, the past frauds and crimes of which her husband was guilty, he yet in his benevolent heart thought the poor widow as much deserving of commiseration as were his own relatives; and he chose to show her that he thought it. His errand was to invite her and George to dinner on the next day, Christmas; that day of peace and goodwill to men. Mrs. Paradyne at first declined; but Sir Simon was so heartily pressing, there was no withstanding it, and she at length yielded. He went home, chuckling at the surprise it would be to his nephews, for they knew nothing of it, and he did not intend to tell them.A surprise it proved. They went for a very long walk after morning service on the following day, and had not been home many minutes when the guests arrived. Trace stared with all his eyes: he thought he must be dreaming.Wasthat Mrs. Paradyne, coming into the room on the arm of Sir Simon, or were his eyes deceiving him? He might be wrong: he had not seen her indoors for many years. She wore a handsome silk gown, and a cap of real lace; rather reserved and discontented in her manner, but essentially a lady. George followed her in, and there could be doubt no longer. George was free, merry, open, cordial, as it was in George Paradyne's nature to be, and he went up to Trace with his hand outstretched, wishing him heartily a merry Christmas. Trace turned salmon-coloured: he would not see the hand; did not respond to it. Bertie Loftus, as if to cover the marked rudeness, put his hand cordially into George Paradyne's; and Trace would have annihilated Bertie, could looks have done it."Is he mad?" groaned Trace in a side-whisper, alluding to his uncle.Bertie laughed. "Let us drop old grievances for once, Ray. It's Christmas Day.""If my mother—who died here—could but rise from her grave and see this!" retorted Trace. He went and stood at the window, looking out, his bosom beating with its wrongs.Dick leaped three feet into the air when he came in and saw the guests. The more the merrier, was Dick's creed. It was that of Talbot and Irby. And now that they met George Paradyne on equal grounds, away from the prejudices of the school, they all saw how much there was to admire and like in him—Trace excepted. Had George Paradyne suddenly cast his shell as a chrysalis does, and appeared before them an angel, Trace, in his condemning prejudice, would have turned his back upon him. It crossed Trace's mind to refuse to sit down to table. But he feared Sir Simon: it would not do to offendhim.It was at the dessert, when the banquet was nearing its close and Mrs. Paradyne had drawn on her gloves, that Sir Simon told Talbot he was to go and read daily with Paradyne at Mr. Henry's. Mr. Henry's kind offer, he called it; and he spoke a few emphatic words of praise of the hardworking usher. Apparently the theme was not palatable to Mrs. Paradyne. She folded her gloved hands one over the other, said a word or two in slighting disparagement of Mr. Henry, and then resolutely closed her lips. Evidently she had not yet forgiven the mistake which had brought them to Orville. George, as if reading her thoughts and struck with their injustice, glanced reproachfully at her as he turned to Sir Simon."Mr. Henry is very kind to me," said the boy: "he is kind to us all. Nobody knows how good he is. He must be very lonely to-day. He was to have dined with us."Sir Simon gave a start. "IwishI had asked him here! The thoughtless savage I was! No more right feeling about me than if I'd never heard of Christmas. I might as well have been born a Red Indian."Mr. Henry was at home, eating his dinner alone. Not potatoes or suet-pudding to-day: he had learned to keep Christmas in Germany, and was lavish in its honour. As George—a great deal too open-speaking to please his mother—said, he had been invited to Mrs. Paradyne's, but when she arranged to go to Sir Simon's she sent an apology to Mr. Henry. Mrs. Butter cooked him a fowl and made him a jam-pudding. He went to church in the morning and stayed for the after-service. As he sat over the fire after dinner, in the twilight of the evening, he could not help feeling as if he were alone in the world—that there was nobody to care for him. At the best, his life, in its social aspect, was not a very happy one. He had a great deal of care always upon him, and he saw no chance of its ever being removed; but he was learning to live for a better world than this.Miss Rose Brabazon had let her tongue run riot the previous day, telling him something confidentially—he could not make out what. Rose's own ideas were obscure upon the point, therefore it was too much to expect they would be clear to him. The young lady thought that "Trace and Emma and 'some of them' feared he might have been capable of taking papa's diamond pencil-case, just as much as the real thief who came in at the glass doors and stole it." It had startled Mr. Henry beyond measure;startledhim, and thrown him into a mass of perplexity. The impression conveyed to him was, not that he was suspected of taking the pencil, but, that he might be capable of taking one. What reason could they have for believing him capable of such a thing?Later in the evening he strolled out in the cold starlight air. He felt so very lonely, so isolated from all the world, that only to look at the gay windows of other people was company. Every house, poor and rich, seemed to be holding its Christmas party. Quite a flood of light streamed from Mr. Gall's—from Dr. Brabazon's; all but himself were keeping Christmas. There was neither envy nor rebellion in his heart. His only thought was, "If they knew I was here alone, they would invite me in." He pictured the inside gladness, and rejoiced in it as though it were his own. "Peace on earth, and goodwill to men!" he murmured gratefully over and over again.The muslin curtains were before the dining-room windows at Dr. Brabazon's, but not the shutters. It was a large party—all the children and grandchildren. A smile crossed Mr. Henry's lips as he thought of Miss Rose in her element. Save the admiration of the college boys, there was nothing that young damsel liked so much as company. Mr. Henry halted and looked across the lawn, and by so doing apparently disturbed another watcher. A man turned round from the window, against which he had been crouched, and came away."What do you want there?" exclaimed Mr. Henry, going forward to confront him."Nothing to-night," was the ready answer; "I'll come another time."All in a moment, Mr. Henry recognized the voice; recognized the low-crowned hat, and the slightly lame step. He placed himself in the intruder's way."I saw you here once before, at the back of the house then: you were looking for the entrance, you said, to deliver a letter. Did you—did you enter the house that night and take anything?""No;youdid."The cool and positive assertion nearly took away Mr. Henry's presence of mind. He had spoken upon impulse. He was quite uncertain what he ought to do in the emergency, whether anything or not. Meanwhile the stranger was walking quietly away, and Mr. Henry did nothing.The following day he met Miss Brabazon with some of her relatives and a whole troop of children. She was a little behind the rest, hastening to catch them up."Will you allow me to speak to you for one moment, Miss Brabazon?""Well," she answered, rather impatiently, as if it were a trouble to remain. It cannot be denied that she had at times treated him with scant courtesy since the suspicion of him instilled into her mind by Trace.He told her what he had seen; that he recognised the voice to be the same; recognised the man and his lameness. Miss Brabazon's face grew white."He was looking in at us, you say?""Undoubtedly.""Are you coming, Emma? What are you about?" called out the party in front, who had turned and halted. "John will miss the train.""Mr. Henry, oblige me in one thing," she hurriedly said; "don't speak of this. I may trust you?""Indeed you may," he answered. "You may doubt me, Miss Brabazon; you have perhaps only too good cause to doubt me; but you may at least rely upon me in this."Emma Brabazon ran on, the curious words ringing their echo on her ears.
Some weeks elapsed. Things had blown over, and the Christmas holidays were coming on. Wonders and calamities; and, in some degree, suspicions; yield to the soothing hand of time. Talbot's accident was almost forgotten; the lost pencil (never found) was not thought of so much as it had been, and the gossip respecting it had ceased.
The bitterness had not lessened against George Paradyne. Gall could not fathom its source. There was no cause for it, as far as he knew, except that the boy had been placed at once at the first desk, and had entered his name for the Orville prize; both of which facts were highly presumptuous in a new scholar, and an outsider. It was also known that he was in the habit of flying to Mrs. Butter's house for help in his studies: the boys supposed that the German (as they derisively called Mr. Henry) was paid for giving it: and many an ill-natured sneer was levelled at them both.
"Are you going to coach Paradyne through the holidays?" asked Trace of Mr. Henry, condescending to address him for once in a way: and be it remarked that when Trace so far unbended, he did not forget his usual civility. But Mr. Henry always detected the inward feeling.
"Trace," he said, every tone betraying earnest kindness, "you spend the holidays at Sir Simon's, therefore I shall be within reach. Come to me, and let me read with you: I know you are anxious to get the Orville. Come every day; I will do my very best to push you on."
"You are a finished scholar?" observed Trace, cynically.
"As finished as any master in the college. When a young man knows (as I did) that he has nothing else to trust to, he is wise to make use of his opportunities. I believe also that I have a peculiar aptitude for teaching. Come and try me."
"What would be your terms?"
"Nothing. I would do it for"—he laughed as he spoke—"love. Oh, Trace, I wish you would let me help you! I wish I could get you to believe that it would be one pleasure in my lonely life."
"What a hypocrite!" thought Trace: "I wonder what he's saying it for? Thank you," he rejoined aloud, with distant coldness; "I shall not require your assistance." And so the offer terminated; and Trace, speaking of it to Loftus, said it was like the fellow's impudence to make it.
One thing had been particularly noticeable throughout the term—that the young German usher seemed to have a facility for healing breaches. In ill-feelings, in quarrellings, in fightings, so sure was he to step in, and not only stop the angry tongues, but soothe their owners down to calmness. Rage, in his hands, became peace; mountains of evil melted down to molehills; fierce recrimination gave place to hand-shaking. He did all so quietly, so pleasantly, so patiently! and, but for the under-current of feeling against him that was being always secretly fanned, he would have been an immense favourite. Putting aside the untoward events at its commencement, the term had been one of the most satisfactory on record.
Loftus and his brother, Trace, James Talbot, and Irby were spending the holidays at Pond Place. Sir Simon Orville generally had two of the boys, besides his nephews. They had wanted Irby and Leek this time; but Sir Simon chose to invite Talbot, and gave them their choice of the other two. And it happened that Sir Simon, the day after their arrival, overheard Trace and Loftus talking of sundry matters, and became cognisant of the offer made to Trace by Mr. Henry.
"And you didn't accept it, Raymond?" he asked, plunging suddenly upon the two in his flowery dressing-gown. "If I were going in for the Orville competition, I shouldn't have sneezed at it. This comes of your pride: you won't study with Paradyne."
"No, it does not, uncle," replied Trace; "though I should object to study with Paradyne. It comes of my dislike to Mr. Henry."
"What is there to dislike in Mr. Henry?"
Trace hesitated, making no direct reply. Bertie Loftus moved away. Sir Simon pressed his question.
Wisely or unwisely, Trace, in his ill-nature, forgot his ordinary caution, his long-continued silence, and disclosed the suspicions attaching to Mr. Henry in regard to the lost pencil. It was so delightful a temptation to speak against him! Loftus came back during the recital, and curled his lip in silent condemnation of Trace.
"Look here," said Sir Simon, wrathfully, "I'd rather suspect one of you."
Loftus went away again without making any answer. Trace smiled very grandly compassionate.
"You were always suspicious, Trace," continued Sir Simon; "it's in your nature to be so, as it was in your poor mother's. He's a kindly, honest gentleman, so far as I've seen of him. Steal a pencil, indeed! Who rose the report? You?"
"There has not been any report," said Trace, with composure.
"Lamb saw him before the study window that night, and we wondered whether he had come in and taken it. The doubt was hushed up, and has died away."
"Not hushed up as far as you go, it seems. Raymond, I'd——"
Talbot and Dick Loftus came running in, and Sir Simon changed the private bearings of the subject, for the more open one of Raymond's pride, as he called it, in not accepting Mr. Henry's offer.
"Giving him two hours a day in the holidays!" exclaimed Talbot. "I wish it had been made to me!"
"You do!" cried Sir Simon. "I suppose you hope to get the prize yourself?"
"I shall try my best for it, sir," said the boy, laughing. "Seventy pounds a year for three years! It would take me to Oxford; and there's no other chance of my getting there."
Holidays for everybody but poor Mr. Henry! He was slaving on. He took George Paradyne for two hours a day; he took another boy, one of the outsiders, who was poor, friendless, and very backward; receiving nothing for either; he gave Miss Rose Brabazon her daily lessons, French one day, German the next, alternately; he went to Mrs. Gall's, to drill three of her little boys, not out at school yet, in Latin and Greek; and he worked hard at his translation, which translation was a very difficult one to get on quickly with, necessitating continual references to abstruse works; for Mr. Henry discovered numerous errors in the original, and desired, in his conscientiousness, to set them right in the English version.
He was at home one morning, a few days after the holidays began, buried in his translation books, marking the faults in Miss Rose Brabazon's last French dictation—and he believed nobody else could have made so many—when Sir Simon Orville walked in. The sweet, kind, patient expression in Mr. Henry's face had always struck him: very patient and wearied did it look to-day. It was Christmas Eve.
"Hard at work? But this is holiday time, Mr. Henry."
Mr. Henry smiled and brightened up. "Some of us don't get the chance of any holiday, Sir Simon," he cheerfully said, as if it were a good joke.
"Bad, that! All work and no play, you know but I'd better not enlarge on that axiom," broke off Sir Simon, "since my errand here is to give you more work. Of the boys whose names are down for the Orville, one comes to you daily, I hear."
"Yes; Paradyne," replied Mr. Henry, feeling rather sensitive at mentioning the name which must be so unwelcome to the brother of the late Mrs. Trace.
"Ay, Paradyne. You made an offer to my nephew, Raymond Trace, to take him also for the holidays, I hear. And he declined."
"I should have been so glad to be of service to him!" returned Mr. Henry, his eyes lighting with the earnestness of the wish.
"The prejudiced young jackass!" explosively cried Sir Simon. "Well, the loss is his. But now, I want you to make the same offer to another, one who won't refuse it; and that's Talbot—Lord Shrewsbury, as they call him. He's staying with me—you know it, perhaps—and he can come to you daily. The boy has only his education to look to in life; he does not possess a golden horde laid up in lavender to make ducks and drakes of when he comes of age, as some of the rascals do; and through those other two bright nephews of mine his studies were stopped for some four or five weeks. Will you take him?"
"Yes, and gladly, Sir Simon. He—perhaps"—Mr. Henry paused and hesitated—"will have no objection to study with young Paradyne?"
"He'd better not let me hear of it, if he has," retorted Sir Simon. "Why should he? Paradyne and his people have not hurthim. No, no; Talbot's another sort of fellow to that. And now, what shall we say about terms? Don't be afraid of laying it on, Mr. Henry; it's my treat."
"I could not charge," said Mr. Henry, interrupting the cheering laugh. "Excuse me, Sir Simon; but I am not helping the boys for money. It would scarcely be an honourable thing. I am well paid by Dr. Brabazon; and any little assistance I can give them out of school is only their due."
"But you are not paid to teach them Latin and Greek and mathematics. You have the right to make the most of your holidays."
"I scarcely see that I have, so far as the college pupils are concerned. Let Talbot come to me at once, Sir Simon; but please say no more about payment. Robbing me of my time? No, indeed, not of a minute, if he comes with Paradyne: their studies are the same. As to any little trouble of my own, I would not think of accepting money for that. I am too glad to give it."
Sir Simon nodded approvingly; he liked the generosity of the feeling, and shook Mr. Henry's hand heartily as he went out.
"The cocked-up young Pharisee!" he soliloquized, apostrophizing the unconscious Trace, and dashing an enormous gig umbrella, that he had brought as a walking-stick, into the ground. "If ever there was an honest, honourable, good spirit, it's his I have just left. Mr. Trace and his uncharitable suspicions will get taken down some day, as sure as he is living."
Turning into the college, he went straight on to the sitting-room, where Miss Brabazon was, to all appearance, alone. Rose was behind the curtain at the far end of the room, ostensibly learning her German, for Mr. Henry would be due in ten minutes; really buried in a charming fairy-tale book, lent to her by Jessie Gall. And her sister had forgotten she was there.
"What is it that these rascally boys have picked up against that poor young German master?" began Sir Simon, in his impulsive fashion. "Do you know, Miss Emma?"
Emma Brabazon laid down the pretty baskets of flowers she was arranging for the evening; for her married brothers and sisters and their children were coming that day on their usual Christmas sojourn. But she did not answer.
"Trace has been talking to me about the lost pencil," resumed Sir Simon. "Butsurelyit is a slander to suspect him of having taken it. Miss Emma, I'd lay my life he is as honest as I am; and he's a vast deal more of a gentleman."
"It was very foolish of Trace to speak of it," she said. "Pray forget it, Sir Simon. The thing has dropped."
"But did you suspect him? You must forgive me, my dear, for asking you these questions; I intended to ask Dr. Brabazon, not you, but I find he is out."
"And I am very glad he is, Sir Simon, for I have never told papa. There were circumstances that seemed to throw a suspicion on Mr. Henry at the time, but they were so doubtful that it was best not to speak of them; and I desired Trace—who was the one to bring them under my notice—to let them die away."
"Oh, Trace brought them to you, did he? But how do you mean they were doubtful?"
"In so far as that Mr. Henry, if applied to, might have been able to explain them all away. It would have been very cruel to bring accusation against any one on grounds so slight."
"Just so. Well, my dear lady, I'd stake Pond Place against Mr. Raymond Trace's prejudices, that the young man is as upright as he is—perhaps more so. We poor sinners shan't be able to stand in Master Trace's presence with our hats on soon; he must be going on for heaven head-foremost, he must, with all this self-righteousness."
Emma Brabazon laughed, and followed Sir Simon out, talking. Upon which Miss Rose emerged from her hiding-place to escape, her German book in her hand, and the fairy tale stuffed up her frock.
"What did they mean?" debated the young lady, who had but imperfectly understood. "If I could find out, I'd tell him. He is always kind to me with my German, though I am so tiresome. I hate that Trace: he never gives me anything; and he stole one of my letters out of Dick's drawer the other day, and made game of it."
People called Sir Simon Orville an odd man. Mr. Raymond Trace in particular could not understand him; there were moments when that young gentleman deemed his respected uncle fit only for a lunatic asylum. He had surely thought him so this morning, had he been behind him. For Sir Simon, quitting Dr. Brabazon's, went on direct to Mrs. Paradyne's. It was not the first visit he had paid her in her present residence. Deprecating, as he did, the past frauds and crimes of which her husband was guilty, he yet in his benevolent heart thought the poor widow as much deserving of commiseration as were his own relatives; and he chose to show her that he thought it. His errand was to invite her and George to dinner on the next day, Christmas; that day of peace and goodwill to men. Mrs. Paradyne at first declined; but Sir Simon was so heartily pressing, there was no withstanding it, and she at length yielded. He went home, chuckling at the surprise it would be to his nephews, for they knew nothing of it, and he did not intend to tell them.
A surprise it proved. They went for a very long walk after morning service on the following day, and had not been home many minutes when the guests arrived. Trace stared with all his eyes: he thought he must be dreaming.Wasthat Mrs. Paradyne, coming into the room on the arm of Sir Simon, or were his eyes deceiving him? He might be wrong: he had not seen her indoors for many years. She wore a handsome silk gown, and a cap of real lace; rather reserved and discontented in her manner, but essentially a lady. George followed her in, and there could be doubt no longer. George was free, merry, open, cordial, as it was in George Paradyne's nature to be, and he went up to Trace with his hand outstretched, wishing him heartily a merry Christmas. Trace turned salmon-coloured: he would not see the hand; did not respond to it. Bertie Loftus, as if to cover the marked rudeness, put his hand cordially into George Paradyne's; and Trace would have annihilated Bertie, could looks have done it.
"Is he mad?" groaned Trace in a side-whisper, alluding to his uncle.
Bertie laughed. "Let us drop old grievances for once, Ray. It's Christmas Day."
"If my mother—who died here—could but rise from her grave and see this!" retorted Trace. He went and stood at the window, looking out, his bosom beating with its wrongs.
Dick leaped three feet into the air when he came in and saw the guests. The more the merrier, was Dick's creed. It was that of Talbot and Irby. And now that they met George Paradyne on equal grounds, away from the prejudices of the school, they all saw how much there was to admire and like in him—Trace excepted. Had George Paradyne suddenly cast his shell as a chrysalis does, and appeared before them an angel, Trace, in his condemning prejudice, would have turned his back upon him. It crossed Trace's mind to refuse to sit down to table. But he feared Sir Simon: it would not do to offendhim.
It was at the dessert, when the banquet was nearing its close and Mrs. Paradyne had drawn on her gloves, that Sir Simon told Talbot he was to go and read daily with Paradyne at Mr. Henry's. Mr. Henry's kind offer, he called it; and he spoke a few emphatic words of praise of the hardworking usher. Apparently the theme was not palatable to Mrs. Paradyne. She folded her gloved hands one over the other, said a word or two in slighting disparagement of Mr. Henry, and then resolutely closed her lips. Evidently she had not yet forgiven the mistake which had brought them to Orville. George, as if reading her thoughts and struck with their injustice, glanced reproachfully at her as he turned to Sir Simon.
"Mr. Henry is very kind to me," said the boy: "he is kind to us all. Nobody knows how good he is. He must be very lonely to-day. He was to have dined with us."
Sir Simon gave a start. "IwishI had asked him here! The thoughtless savage I was! No more right feeling about me than if I'd never heard of Christmas. I might as well have been born a Red Indian."
Mr. Henry was at home, eating his dinner alone. Not potatoes or suet-pudding to-day: he had learned to keep Christmas in Germany, and was lavish in its honour. As George—a great deal too open-speaking to please his mother—said, he had been invited to Mrs. Paradyne's, but when she arranged to go to Sir Simon's she sent an apology to Mr. Henry. Mrs. Butter cooked him a fowl and made him a jam-pudding. He went to church in the morning and stayed for the after-service. As he sat over the fire after dinner, in the twilight of the evening, he could not help feeling as if he were alone in the world—that there was nobody to care for him. At the best, his life, in its social aspect, was not a very happy one. He had a great deal of care always upon him, and he saw no chance of its ever being removed; but he was learning to live for a better world than this.
Miss Rose Brabazon had let her tongue run riot the previous day, telling him something confidentially—he could not make out what. Rose's own ideas were obscure upon the point, therefore it was too much to expect they would be clear to him. The young lady thought that "Trace and Emma and 'some of them' feared he might have been capable of taking papa's diamond pencil-case, just as much as the real thief who came in at the glass doors and stole it." It had startled Mr. Henry beyond measure;startledhim, and thrown him into a mass of perplexity. The impression conveyed to him was, not that he was suspected of taking the pencil, but, that he might be capable of taking one. What reason could they have for believing him capable of such a thing?
Later in the evening he strolled out in the cold starlight air. He felt so very lonely, so isolated from all the world, that only to look at the gay windows of other people was company. Every house, poor and rich, seemed to be holding its Christmas party. Quite a flood of light streamed from Mr. Gall's—from Dr. Brabazon's; all but himself were keeping Christmas. There was neither envy nor rebellion in his heart. His only thought was, "If they knew I was here alone, they would invite me in." He pictured the inside gladness, and rejoiced in it as though it were his own. "Peace on earth, and goodwill to men!" he murmured gratefully over and over again.
The muslin curtains were before the dining-room windows at Dr. Brabazon's, but not the shutters. It was a large party—all the children and grandchildren. A smile crossed Mr. Henry's lips as he thought of Miss Rose in her element. Save the admiration of the college boys, there was nothing that young damsel liked so much as company. Mr. Henry halted and looked across the lawn, and by so doing apparently disturbed another watcher. A man turned round from the window, against which he had been crouched, and came away.
"What do you want there?" exclaimed Mr. Henry, going forward to confront him.
"Nothing to-night," was the ready answer; "I'll come another time."
All in a moment, Mr. Henry recognized the voice; recognized the low-crowned hat, and the slightly lame step. He placed himself in the intruder's way.
"I saw you here once before, at the back of the house then: you were looking for the entrance, you said, to deliver a letter. Did you—did you enter the house that night and take anything?"
"No;youdid."
The cool and positive assertion nearly took away Mr. Henry's presence of mind. He had spoken upon impulse. He was quite uncertain what he ought to do in the emergency, whether anything or not. Meanwhile the stranger was walking quietly away, and Mr. Henry did nothing.
The following day he met Miss Brabazon with some of her relatives and a whole troop of children. She was a little behind the rest, hastening to catch them up.
"Will you allow me to speak to you for one moment, Miss Brabazon?"
"Well," she answered, rather impatiently, as if it were a trouble to remain. It cannot be denied that she had at times treated him with scant courtesy since the suspicion of him instilled into her mind by Trace.
He told her what he had seen; that he recognised the voice to be the same; recognised the man and his lameness. Miss Brabazon's face grew white.
"He was looking in at us, you say?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Are you coming, Emma? What are you about?" called out the party in front, who had turned and halted. "John will miss the train."
"Mr. Henry, oblige me in one thing," she hurriedly said; "don't speak of this. I may trust you?"
"Indeed you may," he answered. "You may doubt me, Miss Brabazon; you have perhaps only too good cause to doubt me; but you may at least rely upon me in this."
Emma Brabazon ran on, the curious words ringing their echo on her ears.