CHAPTER VI.Mr. Gall abroad.And now, not to make a mystery of it to you, my boys, any longer, I will tell you that itwasRaymond Trace who had fired the pistol. Mr. Henry was not mistaken in his recognition of Trace; and what's more, he knew that he was not; though at the time he did not know his name, or who he was. Mr. Trace had silently quitted the college after prayers on a little private expedition of his own; in his hurry he caught up Mr. Long's cap, not noticing the mistake; and was rushing through the plantation when the sound of hushed voices caused him to slacken his footsteps and advance cautiously, lest he should be seen himself. Peeping through the trees, he discerned Smart and Dick Loftus, each flourishing a pistol about like two young madmen; and Trace, making a movement in his surprise, betrayed his presence. You know what followed: the boys flew off with one of the pistols; the other Trace took up, and presently fired it off. He fired it heedlessly, without thought of harm, never supposing it was loaded; with an idea perhaps of further scaring the two decamping boys; neither had he heard the approach of Talbot. When he found the pistolwasloaded, and that some mischief had ensued, he was startled nearly out of his senses, quite out of his presence of mind.His straightforward course, as everybody knows, would have been to go up and see who was wounded; but I'm afraid Trace's was not a very straightforward nature; and there was also the instinctive desire to conceal his having come abroad. Not a boy in the college was more solicitous of appearing to keep the rules than Trace; and he had grown to be looked upon as a model to the rest. Dropping the pistol, away he stole, obeying instinct only, too terrified to be able to think calmly, and came face to face with the new foreign master. Up went his hand to his face to hide it, and away he backed amidst the trees; stealing on noiselessly for some short distance, and then tearing back to school helter-skelter. It was only when he came to hang up the cap that he discovered the mistake he had made in taking out a master's. He glided into the hall, sat down behind the nearest desk, and gradually let his presence be noticed. When the news came presently in, Trace was talking with Irby and Brown major, and rose up in the same consternation as the rest.You may therefore imagine what his sensations were when the Head Master subsequently appealed to his honour; to his, in common with that of the rest of the school. He could not declare himself; the time had gone by; it was quite impossible that he,having concealed it, could come forth with the avowal at that, the eleventh hour. Over and over again he blamed his folly and his cowardice for having stolen away; he would give all the money his pockets contained—and money was often a scarce commodity with Mr. Trace—to have bravely gone up to the wounded boy and declared the truth of the accident. He called himself a fool; he called himself a coward; he called himself sundry other disparaging names: but that it was not in his habit to do it, he might have sworn at himself. Not for the mere act in itself, the having fired the pistol; that was almost a pure accident; but for having concealed that it was he who did it.However, his course was entered upon, and all he could do now was to hope and trust that he might never be discovered. While this hope was filling every crevice of his heart, making itself heard hourly in his brain, there came the startling question of the German master—"Was it not you I met?" Trace could only be indignant and say it was not; but the disagreeable doubt, whether he had been positively recognized or not, caused him to fear and hate Mr. Henry with a bitter fear and hatred. He thought it was but a suspicion, not a recognition, for Mr. Henry's quiet and cautious manner deceived him, and he grew to believe that his denial had borne its intended fruit. So the fear subsided, but the hatred ripened; and it might perhaps bring trouble in the future.A sunny day towards the close of September, and Miss Brabazon went abroad with Rose. She was about to pay a visit to Mrs. Paradyne; not only because it was her custom to call on the friends of the outdoor boys, but to show, in this instance, all she could of consideration and kindness. The Head Master and Miss Brabazon were in one respect the very opposite to Trace. Trace thought inherited misfortune a legitimate target for lances of contempt, if not of reproach;theydeemed such people, so blameless and unhappy, should receive all of gentle commiseration that the world can show.Miss Rose went mincing along in her short petticoats, the tails to her Leghorn hat flying behind, as she turned her little vain head from side to side, looking if any chance college boy might be abroad to cast his admiring eyes upon her. Not seeing one, she darted up to Mrs. Gall's governess, who was walking about the grounds of Mr. Gall's residence with some of the children, and then darted back to her sister."There's Jessie and Kate Gall, Emma. Can't you call on their mamma, while I walk about with them? Mrs. Gall is at the window. I know her by the yellow in her cap."Emma Brabazon looked across the lawn at the handsome house, and saw a yellow silk screen standing near one of the windows. She laughed."You can stay here, however, Rose," she said, nodding to the governess. "I will call for you as I come back."Glad that it had so happened, for Miss Rose had insisted on accompanying her rather against her will, Emma Brabazon walked on to Prospect Terrace, as the houses were named, perhaps because they faced a brickfield, and inquired for Mrs. Paradyne. A rather faded lady, sitting in a small upper room, styled by courtesy a drawing-room, rose to receive her. She was tall and slender, with a fair thin face, and bright dark eyes. Her cap was of real lace; her gown, a delicate silk, looked faded, like herself; her manners were quiet and self-possessed. At the first glance Miss Brabazon could not fail to perceive that she was essentially a lady."It is very kind of you to come," she observed, when they had spoken a little together, Miss Brabazon sitting on the chintz sofa, herself on an opposite chair. "Living in the obscure way my circumstances compel me to live, in these small lodgings, I had not expected of course that any one would call upon me.""But I am very pleased to do it," said Miss Brabazon, "not only because your son is at the college; and I have brought papa's card," she added, laying it on the table. "He has not time to pay visits himself; but he bade me say he hoped you would come to see us, and that we should be good friends.""I visit nowhere," said Mrs. Paradyne, a certain fretfulness observable in her tone. "People do not care to invite those who cannot return it to them. Do not think me ungracious," she hastened to add; "I was not speaking in answer to Dr. Brabazon's kind message, but rather thinking of my past experience.""I hope your son likes the school," observed Emma, rather at a loss what to say."He likes the school; he does not like his companions," answered Mrs. Paradyne."No!" exclaimed Emma, taken by surprise. "Why not?""They seem to shun him; they do shun him, there's no doubt of it. It is making me miserable: I could not sleep all last night for thinking of it. There's scarcely a boy will speak to him, or treat him as a companion;—my dear son, who is so bright and good."Amidst a mass of confused ideas, two in particular loomed out dimly in Emma Brabazon's mind—that Mrs. Paradyne was rather absorbed in self, and that her son was to her a very idol."Can those boys have betrayed him?" she involuntarily exclaimed."Betrayed what?" questioned Mrs. Paradyne.And Emma Brabazon blushed to the very roots of her hair. She had been prepared to offer every kind and considerate sympathy if Mrs. Paradyne herself alluded to the past, but certainly had not intended gratuitously to enter upon it. There was no help for it now; and she spoke a few words of the discovery made by Trace—that he had recognised George Paradyne to be the son of a gentleman who had injured his father."Yes," said Mrs. Paradyne, folding her delicate hands in meek resignation on her lap, "I was sure something disagreeable would ensue as soon as George came home and told me that the sons of Loftus and Trace—as the firm used to be—were at the college. It is most unfortunate that he should happen to have come to the same.""Yes, it is—for your son's sake," murmured Emma, who felt almost guilty herself."I expected nothing less, I assure you, Miss Brabazon, than to find my son come home with a note from the Head Master, dismissing him from the college. I——""Oh, if you only knew papa, you would not think it," she interrupted, gathering her scattered courage. "He would be all the more likely to retain him in it. The only fear was about the others, the Loftus boys and Trace. If their friends had raised any objection—but it has been quite the contrary," she hastened to add, quitting the unpleasant point; "and papa charged the boys on their honour not to breathe a word of the past to the school.""They have breathed something, or others have; for George is being shunned most unjustifiably. Ah, well; it is but a natural consequence of the miserable past; I said it would cling to us for life, an incubus of disgrace. And so it will.""Papa would like to tell you how greatly he sympathises with you," said Emma, eagerly. "I hope you will accept our friendship, and let us testify our respect in every way that we can. Unmerited misfortune is so sad to bear.""I thought it would have killed me," was the answer made by Mrs. Paradyne, her tone one of discontented reproach—reproach for the husband who had gone. "I asked myself what right he had to bring this misery upon me; to entail on his children an inheritance of shame; I asked what he could have done with all the money; and there was nothing to answer me but the mocking word, What? When I look on my darling, I can hardly forbear to cry out against his memory. Pardon me, Miss Brabazon, I think this is the first time I have spoken of it to a stranger, but your words of kindness opened my heart.""Have you many children?" inquired Miss Brabazon."Two sons,—George and an elder one. I have George only with me; the other is out, working for his living. And I have a daughter.""Is she with you?""She is a teacher in a school in Derbyshire. I seem to be quite isolated from friends and family," continued Mrs. Paradyne, in a fretful tone. "It is but another natural result of the wretched past. I suppose my boy in this new college will be equally friendless.""Your son has one firm friend in our new German master, Mr. Henry," was the reply of Miss Brabazon.It was intended to be a reassuring one; but Mrs. Paradyne seemed to take it up in quite an opposite light. Her faded brow contracted; her eyes assumed a hard expression."I beg your pardon, Miss Brabazon; I would rather not speak of Mr. Henry. When I remember that it is through him we came up to this college, where my boy is being subjected to these slights and insults, I cannot think of him with patience.""Was it through Mr. Henry you came to Orville?""It was. He wrote to us from Heidelberg, saying he had made an engagement with a first-class college in England, and suggested that George should be placed at it. He could give him so much of his time, he said. And this is the result!—that we find Raymond Trace here and the Loftus boys.""But surely Mr. Henry did it for the best?""He intended it for the best, no doubt, but it has not turned out so for George. What I think is this—that Mr. Henry, knowing past circumstances and the cloud they cast upon us, might have made some inquiries as to who the scholars were at Orville College, before he brought George to it, and put me to the expense and trouble and pain of coming here."The exceeding injustice of the reasoning—nay, the ingratitude—brought to Emma Brabazon a deeper conviction of the innate selfishness of Mrs. Paradyne. She supposed that her great misfortunes had hardened her; and the saying, so keen and true, arose to her mind,—"Adversity hardens the heart, or it opens it to Paradise.""You knew Mr. Henry well in Germany, I believe? He was professor in the college where your son was a scholar?""Yes, he was," replied Mrs. Paradyne.Miss Brabazon took her leave, and went away, a dim idea resting on her that she had seen Mrs. Paradyne before; or some one resembling her. Ever and anon, during the interview, an expression had dawned over her countenance that seemed strangely familiar. "But it was only when her face looked pleasant that the idea arose," thought Emma Brabazon, as she turned into the avenue and crossed the lawn leading to Mrs. Gall's.Miss Rose was making herself at home, and had her things off. "I'm going to stay tea, Emma," was her salutation to her sister. "You can go home without me."It was her way. She did not say, "May I stay?" but took will and decision into her own hands. In great things Emma quietly corrected her; in trifles Rose was yielded to. Emma looked at Mrs. Gall, a slight, thin, kind little woman, with a sharp red nose."Do let her stay, Miss Brabazon. William is coming home to go out to dinner with his papa, and the children and governess are to have a pleasant hour with me. See how anxious Jessie is that you should say yes."Emma laughed and acquiesced. Upon which Rose waltzed into the governess's room with the news, and watched her sister away. It was scarcely tea-time yet, and Miss Brabazon found she had leisure to go round to Mrs. Butter's, whom she had occasion to see about some mushroom-ketchup. Mr. Henry was standing at his low sitting-room window as she passed, dreamily watching the boys in the playground, for school was over. They were whooping, halloaing, running, as it is in the nature of schoolboys to do; and a little army of them had gathered at the palings, looking this way. The master's face wore the sad look that had previously so struck Miss Brabazon, and she turned aside to speak to him."I have been to see Mrs. Paradyne," she said, thinking the information might give him pleasure, as she stood at the open window."Have you!" he answered, his countenance and his luminous eyes lighting up. "How very kind of you, Miss Brabazon!""Poor thing! What terrible trouble she must have seen! She carries it in her face, in the tones of her voice, in her manner; all tell of it. She says she shall never overcome the blow.""But did she speak of it to you, Miss Brabazon?" he inquired in some surprise."Yes, but it was my fault; I inadvertently alluded to it," replied Miss Brabazon, dropping her voice. "I was so vexed with myself. Mrs. Paradyne tells me there is another son who is out somewhere.""Ah, yes," returned Mr. Henry; and his dreamy eyes went far away again, as if he could see the other son in the distance."But she seems quite rapt up in this, her second; it struck me somehow that she does not care for the elder," continued Miss Brabazon, in a pleasant tone of confidence. "She tells me it was you who recommended the college to her."He looked for a minute at Miss Brabazon before he answered: it almost seemed to her as if he divined Mrs. Paradyne's reproachful words. She waited for an answer."After I had made the agreement with Dr. Brabazon to come here, I wrote to Mrs. Paradyne. She wanted, as I knew, to place her son at a first-class school, and I thought I might give him some little extra attention.""Just so. It was very kind of you. Mrs. Paradyne has an idea that the boys are shunning him," added Miss Brabazon."I believe they are. But why, I cannot find out, for I don't think they have any clue to the past. I tell George Paradyne he will live it down.""To be sure he will. There is a daughter also, I find—a teacher in a school."For one moment Mr. Henry turned and looked sharply, questioningly, at Miss Brabazon; as if he would ask how much more Mrs. Paradyne had told her. But it was evident that he shunned the subject; and he made no comment whatever on this additional item of news. An idea flashed over Miss Brabazon that Mr. Henry was attached to this young lady; but why it did so she could not have told."Good afternoon, Mr. Henry."He bowed his adieu, and Miss Brabazon went round to the house-door, and thence to the kitchen. Mrs. Butter was standing there in a fury, surrounded by coils of string and a heap of paper."Look here, Miss Emma," was her salutation; and she was familiar with Miss Brabazon from having formerly lived servant in the college. "If those boys don't have something done to them, it's a shocking shame. There comes a railway porter to the door five minutes ago—'A parcel for you, ma'am,' he says to me, 'fourpence to pay!' Well, I was expecting a parcel from my brother, and I paid the fourpence and took it in. 'What on earth has made Bill tie it up with all this string for, and wrap it round with all this paper?' says I as I undid it. First string, and then paper; then string, and then paper; and curious round holes bored in all of it, as if done with a big iron skewer. But it never struck me—no, Miss Emma, it never struck me; and I went on and on till I came to the last wrap, and was bending over that to see whatever it could be, done up so careful, when a live mouse jumped out in my face. I shrieked out so, that it brought the German gentleman in—he thought I was afire. Between us we caught the mouse, and there he is, in a pail o' water, which is where them boys ought to be. The depth of 'em! boring them holes to keep the animal alive, and getting a railway porter to come with it, as bold as brass!"Emma Brabazon, staid lady of thirty though she was, stood coughing behind her handkerchief. "But how do you know it was the boys?" she asked."Know!" wrathfully retorted Mrs. Butter. "There's fifty faces turned on to the house now from the playground, if there's one; and all of 'em as meek as lambs! Just look at 'em!"Thinking she would leave the ketchup for a more auspicious occasion, Miss Brabazon went away, leaving Mrs. Butter fuming and grumbling. Sundry faces certainly were still scanning the house; but Miss Brabazon appeared to see nothing, and went on her way. In turning round by the chapel, she encountered the senior boy."Did you send that present to Mrs. Butter just now, Gall?""A present, Miss Brabazon?""A live mouse done up in a parcel."Gall stared, and then laughed. He knew nothing of it. The seniors were above those practical tricks. "It was the second desk, no doubt," he said. "Am I to inquire into it, Miss Brabazon?""No, not from me. But they should not tease the old woman beyond bearing.""She is of a cranky temper," said Gall."And the boys make it worse. Gall," added Miss Brabazon, her tone changing, and the senior boy thought it bore a touch of fear, "you have not discovered yet who fired the pistol?""Not at all. We begin to think now, Miss Brabazon, that it was not one of us.""Ah," she said, turning her face away. "What is the cause of this feeling against the new boy, George Paradyne?" she continued, and the question seemed to come abruptly after the pause."I don't know," replied Gall, excessively surprised that it should be asked him. "I perceive there is some feeling against Paradyne; I suppose because he is an outsider.""Gall, you have more sense, more thought, than some of your companions, and I can speak to you confidentially, as one friend would speak to another," resumed Miss Brabazon. "Ascertain, if you can, the cause of this feeling, without making a fuss, you know; and tell me what it is. Soothe it down if possible; make the boy's way easy amidst you. I am sure he does not deserve to be shunned."Gall touched his cap, much flattered, and went on his way. Not into school: he had been invited out to dinner with his father, as Mrs. Gall had said, and had leave from Dr. Brabazon until eleven o'clock. This gave a golden opportunity to the seniors, of which they were not slow to avail themselves. In recording the doings of a large school, where truth is adhered to, the bad has to be told with the good.Smoking was especially forbidden: nothing was so certainly followed by punishment as the transgression of the rule. Not only was it sternly interdicted, but Dr. Brabazon talked kindly and earnestly to the boys in private. The habit when acquired early was most pernicious, he reiterated to them; frequently inducing paralysis by middle age. He gave Gall special instructions to be watchful; and this was well; the senior boy was faithful to the trust reposed in him, and, though the vigilance of the masters could be eluded, it was not so easy to escape his. But on occasions like this, when Gall's back was turned, certain of the seniors who liked a cigar, or pipe, or screw—anything—when they could get it, seized on the opportunity, in defiance of rules and the Head Master.They set about the recreation this evening in the privacy of their chamber. There were seven beds in it, occupied by Gall, Loftus, Trace, Irby, Fullarton, Savage, and Brown major. Taking off their jackets and putting out the candle, they drew the window up to its height slowly and gingerly, and lighted their cigars. Not Trace: he had never been seen with anything of the sort in his mouth; and it always made Brown major sick, fit to die; but he considered it manly to persevere. There they stood at the window, puffing away, laughing and talking in an undertone. News of Mrs. Butter's present had run the round of the school, and the seniors, though loftily superior to such things in public, did not disdain to enjoy that and other interesting events in private. That lady's domicile was in full view; her large dog lay in the garden. It was the fourth dog she had tried, and those wicked reptiles (one of Mrs. Butter's laudatory names for them) had made friends with each animal in succession, and so bribed him to their interests."I say, what is it that's up against Paradyne?" suddenly asked Brown major, glad of any opportunity to get that miserable cigar out of his mouth.Nobody answered: the boys were too lazy, or the cigars too exacting. That Brown major had a trick of bringing up unpleasant topics. He asked again."He had no business to be put in our class," said Savage at length."Jove, no! But that wasn't his fault.""An outsider and all," continued Savage. "It's the second desk, though, that are making the set at him.""What has he done to them?""Bother!" said Savage, who was in some difficulty about his cigar.Brown major was not to be put down; talking was more convenient than smoking just now. "Do you know, Trace?""It's no affair of mine," replied Trace coldly, and Irby exchanged a meaning glance with him in the starlight."This beastly cigar won't draw at all," exclaimed Savage."No, they won't," assented Fullarton, in much wrath; "and I paid threepence apiece for them." For the treat this evening was his. "It's a regular swindle.""The best cigars—""Hist! Who's that?"The warning came from Trace. Not being occupied as the rest were, his attention was awake, and a sound like a cough had caught his ear from underneath the window. Out went the heads and the cigars, which was a great want of caution. On the gravel walk below, pacing about before the Head Master's study, whose large bay window abutted outwards, was Mr. Henry."Take care, you fellows," murmured Trace; "it's that German spy."In came the cigars. The boys, snatching them from their lips, held them behind, back-handed, and put out their heads again."What makes you call him a spy, Trace?" whispered Loftus."Because I know he is one. Mind! he saw the cigars: I watched him look up. I wonder what he is doing there."The idea of a spy in the school—and he one of the masters—was not at all an agreeable prospect, and the smokers felt a sort of chill. "How do you know he is one, Trace?" asked Brown major."That's my business. I tell you that heis, and that's enough. I'd give half a crown to know what he is walking there for! He can't have any business there."For the walk was a solitary walk, not leading to any particular spot; of course open to the inmates of the college, but nobody ever thought of going there at night. Hence the wonder. Perhaps its solitude may have made its attraction for Mr. Henry: quiet and still it lay, underneath the stars, but a minute or two's distance from his lodgings. The boys, peeping out still with hushed breath, saw him presently stroll away in the direction of his home, making no sign that he had observed them."Mark you," said Fullarton, much put out, "the fellow has stationed himself in those low-lived rooms of Mother Butter's to be a spy upon us. Trace is right."But not one of them had known that during this little episode Brown minor came into the room on some mission to his brother, and had seen the red ends of the five cigars, just then held backwards. Divining that it might not be deemed a convenient moment for intrusion, young Mr. Brown withdrew quietly, leaving his errand unfulfilled; went back to his own room, and there whispered the news confidentially that the seniors were smoking.
And now, not to make a mystery of it to you, my boys, any longer, I will tell you that itwasRaymond Trace who had fired the pistol. Mr. Henry was not mistaken in his recognition of Trace; and what's more, he knew that he was not; though at the time he did not know his name, or who he was. Mr. Trace had silently quitted the college after prayers on a little private expedition of his own; in his hurry he caught up Mr. Long's cap, not noticing the mistake; and was rushing through the plantation when the sound of hushed voices caused him to slacken his footsteps and advance cautiously, lest he should be seen himself. Peeping through the trees, he discerned Smart and Dick Loftus, each flourishing a pistol about like two young madmen; and Trace, making a movement in his surprise, betrayed his presence. You know what followed: the boys flew off with one of the pistols; the other Trace took up, and presently fired it off. He fired it heedlessly, without thought of harm, never supposing it was loaded; with an idea perhaps of further scaring the two decamping boys; neither had he heard the approach of Talbot. When he found the pistolwasloaded, and that some mischief had ensued, he was startled nearly out of his senses, quite out of his presence of mind.
His straightforward course, as everybody knows, would have been to go up and see who was wounded; but I'm afraid Trace's was not a very straightforward nature; and there was also the instinctive desire to conceal his having come abroad. Not a boy in the college was more solicitous of appearing to keep the rules than Trace; and he had grown to be looked upon as a model to the rest. Dropping the pistol, away he stole, obeying instinct only, too terrified to be able to think calmly, and came face to face with the new foreign master. Up went his hand to his face to hide it, and away he backed amidst the trees; stealing on noiselessly for some short distance, and then tearing back to school helter-skelter. It was only when he came to hang up the cap that he discovered the mistake he had made in taking out a master's. He glided into the hall, sat down behind the nearest desk, and gradually let his presence be noticed. When the news came presently in, Trace was talking with Irby and Brown major, and rose up in the same consternation as the rest.
You may therefore imagine what his sensations were when the Head Master subsequently appealed to his honour; to his, in common with that of the rest of the school. He could not declare himself; the time had gone by; it was quite impossible that he,having concealed it, could come forth with the avowal at that, the eleventh hour. Over and over again he blamed his folly and his cowardice for having stolen away; he would give all the money his pockets contained—and money was often a scarce commodity with Mr. Trace—to have bravely gone up to the wounded boy and declared the truth of the accident. He called himself a fool; he called himself a coward; he called himself sundry other disparaging names: but that it was not in his habit to do it, he might have sworn at himself. Not for the mere act in itself, the having fired the pistol; that was almost a pure accident; but for having concealed that it was he who did it.
However, his course was entered upon, and all he could do now was to hope and trust that he might never be discovered. While this hope was filling every crevice of his heart, making itself heard hourly in his brain, there came the startling question of the German master—"Was it not you I met?" Trace could only be indignant and say it was not; but the disagreeable doubt, whether he had been positively recognized or not, caused him to fear and hate Mr. Henry with a bitter fear and hatred. He thought it was but a suspicion, not a recognition, for Mr. Henry's quiet and cautious manner deceived him, and he grew to believe that his denial had borne its intended fruit. So the fear subsided, but the hatred ripened; and it might perhaps bring trouble in the future.
A sunny day towards the close of September, and Miss Brabazon went abroad with Rose. She was about to pay a visit to Mrs. Paradyne; not only because it was her custom to call on the friends of the outdoor boys, but to show, in this instance, all she could of consideration and kindness. The Head Master and Miss Brabazon were in one respect the very opposite to Trace. Trace thought inherited misfortune a legitimate target for lances of contempt, if not of reproach;theydeemed such people, so blameless and unhappy, should receive all of gentle commiseration that the world can show.
Miss Rose went mincing along in her short petticoats, the tails to her Leghorn hat flying behind, as she turned her little vain head from side to side, looking if any chance college boy might be abroad to cast his admiring eyes upon her. Not seeing one, she darted up to Mrs. Gall's governess, who was walking about the grounds of Mr. Gall's residence with some of the children, and then darted back to her sister.
"There's Jessie and Kate Gall, Emma. Can't you call on their mamma, while I walk about with them? Mrs. Gall is at the window. I know her by the yellow in her cap."
Emma Brabazon looked across the lawn at the handsome house, and saw a yellow silk screen standing near one of the windows. She laughed.
"You can stay here, however, Rose," she said, nodding to the governess. "I will call for you as I come back."
Glad that it had so happened, for Miss Rose had insisted on accompanying her rather against her will, Emma Brabazon walked on to Prospect Terrace, as the houses were named, perhaps because they faced a brickfield, and inquired for Mrs. Paradyne. A rather faded lady, sitting in a small upper room, styled by courtesy a drawing-room, rose to receive her. She was tall and slender, with a fair thin face, and bright dark eyes. Her cap was of real lace; her gown, a delicate silk, looked faded, like herself; her manners were quiet and self-possessed. At the first glance Miss Brabazon could not fail to perceive that she was essentially a lady.
"It is very kind of you to come," she observed, when they had spoken a little together, Miss Brabazon sitting on the chintz sofa, herself on an opposite chair. "Living in the obscure way my circumstances compel me to live, in these small lodgings, I had not expected of course that any one would call upon me."
"But I am very pleased to do it," said Miss Brabazon, "not only because your son is at the college; and I have brought papa's card," she added, laying it on the table. "He has not time to pay visits himself; but he bade me say he hoped you would come to see us, and that we should be good friends."
"I visit nowhere," said Mrs. Paradyne, a certain fretfulness observable in her tone. "People do not care to invite those who cannot return it to them. Do not think me ungracious," she hastened to add; "I was not speaking in answer to Dr. Brabazon's kind message, but rather thinking of my past experience."
"I hope your son likes the school," observed Emma, rather at a loss what to say.
"He likes the school; he does not like his companions," answered Mrs. Paradyne.
"No!" exclaimed Emma, taken by surprise. "Why not?"
"They seem to shun him; they do shun him, there's no doubt of it. It is making me miserable: I could not sleep all last night for thinking of it. There's scarcely a boy will speak to him, or treat him as a companion;—my dear son, who is so bright and good."
Amidst a mass of confused ideas, two in particular loomed out dimly in Emma Brabazon's mind—that Mrs. Paradyne was rather absorbed in self, and that her son was to her a very idol.
"Can those boys have betrayed him?" she involuntarily exclaimed.
"Betrayed what?" questioned Mrs. Paradyne.
And Emma Brabazon blushed to the very roots of her hair. She had been prepared to offer every kind and considerate sympathy if Mrs. Paradyne herself alluded to the past, but certainly had not intended gratuitously to enter upon it. There was no help for it now; and she spoke a few words of the discovery made by Trace—that he had recognised George Paradyne to be the son of a gentleman who had injured his father.
"Yes," said Mrs. Paradyne, folding her delicate hands in meek resignation on her lap, "I was sure something disagreeable would ensue as soon as George came home and told me that the sons of Loftus and Trace—as the firm used to be—were at the college. It is most unfortunate that he should happen to have come to the same."
"Yes, it is—for your son's sake," murmured Emma, who felt almost guilty herself.
"I expected nothing less, I assure you, Miss Brabazon, than to find my son come home with a note from the Head Master, dismissing him from the college. I——"
"Oh, if you only knew papa, you would not think it," she interrupted, gathering her scattered courage. "He would be all the more likely to retain him in it. The only fear was about the others, the Loftus boys and Trace. If their friends had raised any objection—but it has been quite the contrary," she hastened to add, quitting the unpleasant point; "and papa charged the boys on their honour not to breathe a word of the past to the school."
"They have breathed something, or others have; for George is being shunned most unjustifiably. Ah, well; it is but a natural consequence of the miserable past; I said it would cling to us for life, an incubus of disgrace. And so it will."
"Papa would like to tell you how greatly he sympathises with you," said Emma, eagerly. "I hope you will accept our friendship, and let us testify our respect in every way that we can. Unmerited misfortune is so sad to bear."
"I thought it would have killed me," was the answer made by Mrs. Paradyne, her tone one of discontented reproach—reproach for the husband who had gone. "I asked myself what right he had to bring this misery upon me; to entail on his children an inheritance of shame; I asked what he could have done with all the money; and there was nothing to answer me but the mocking word, What? When I look on my darling, I can hardly forbear to cry out against his memory. Pardon me, Miss Brabazon, I think this is the first time I have spoken of it to a stranger, but your words of kindness opened my heart."
"Have you many children?" inquired Miss Brabazon.
"Two sons,—George and an elder one. I have George only with me; the other is out, working for his living. And I have a daughter."
"Is she with you?"
"She is a teacher in a school in Derbyshire. I seem to be quite isolated from friends and family," continued Mrs. Paradyne, in a fretful tone. "It is but another natural result of the wretched past. I suppose my boy in this new college will be equally friendless."
"Your son has one firm friend in our new German master, Mr. Henry," was the reply of Miss Brabazon.
It was intended to be a reassuring one; but Mrs. Paradyne seemed to take it up in quite an opposite light. Her faded brow contracted; her eyes assumed a hard expression.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Brabazon; I would rather not speak of Mr. Henry. When I remember that it is through him we came up to this college, where my boy is being subjected to these slights and insults, I cannot think of him with patience."
"Was it through Mr. Henry you came to Orville?"
"It was. He wrote to us from Heidelberg, saying he had made an engagement with a first-class college in England, and suggested that George should be placed at it. He could give him so much of his time, he said. And this is the result!—that we find Raymond Trace here and the Loftus boys."
"But surely Mr. Henry did it for the best?"
"He intended it for the best, no doubt, but it has not turned out so for George. What I think is this—that Mr. Henry, knowing past circumstances and the cloud they cast upon us, might have made some inquiries as to who the scholars were at Orville College, before he brought George to it, and put me to the expense and trouble and pain of coming here."
The exceeding injustice of the reasoning—nay, the ingratitude—brought to Emma Brabazon a deeper conviction of the innate selfishness of Mrs. Paradyne. She supposed that her great misfortunes had hardened her; and the saying, so keen and true, arose to her mind,—"Adversity hardens the heart, or it opens it to Paradise."
"You knew Mr. Henry well in Germany, I believe? He was professor in the college where your son was a scholar?"
"Yes, he was," replied Mrs. Paradyne.
Miss Brabazon took her leave, and went away, a dim idea resting on her that she had seen Mrs. Paradyne before; or some one resembling her. Ever and anon, during the interview, an expression had dawned over her countenance that seemed strangely familiar. "But it was only when her face looked pleasant that the idea arose," thought Emma Brabazon, as she turned into the avenue and crossed the lawn leading to Mrs. Gall's.
Miss Rose was making herself at home, and had her things off. "I'm going to stay tea, Emma," was her salutation to her sister. "You can go home without me."
It was her way. She did not say, "May I stay?" but took will and decision into her own hands. In great things Emma quietly corrected her; in trifles Rose was yielded to. Emma looked at Mrs. Gall, a slight, thin, kind little woman, with a sharp red nose.
"Do let her stay, Miss Brabazon. William is coming home to go out to dinner with his papa, and the children and governess are to have a pleasant hour with me. See how anxious Jessie is that you should say yes."
Emma laughed and acquiesced. Upon which Rose waltzed into the governess's room with the news, and watched her sister away. It was scarcely tea-time yet, and Miss Brabazon found she had leisure to go round to Mrs. Butter's, whom she had occasion to see about some mushroom-ketchup. Mr. Henry was standing at his low sitting-room window as she passed, dreamily watching the boys in the playground, for school was over. They were whooping, halloaing, running, as it is in the nature of schoolboys to do; and a little army of them had gathered at the palings, looking this way. The master's face wore the sad look that had previously so struck Miss Brabazon, and she turned aside to speak to him.
"I have been to see Mrs. Paradyne," she said, thinking the information might give him pleasure, as she stood at the open window.
"Have you!" he answered, his countenance and his luminous eyes lighting up. "How very kind of you, Miss Brabazon!"
"Poor thing! What terrible trouble she must have seen! She carries it in her face, in the tones of her voice, in her manner; all tell of it. She says she shall never overcome the blow."
"But did she speak of it to you, Miss Brabazon?" he inquired in some surprise.
"Yes, but it was my fault; I inadvertently alluded to it," replied Miss Brabazon, dropping her voice. "I was so vexed with myself. Mrs. Paradyne tells me there is another son who is out somewhere."
"Ah, yes," returned Mr. Henry; and his dreamy eyes went far away again, as if he could see the other son in the distance.
"But she seems quite rapt up in this, her second; it struck me somehow that she does not care for the elder," continued Miss Brabazon, in a pleasant tone of confidence. "She tells me it was you who recommended the college to her."
He looked for a minute at Miss Brabazon before he answered: it almost seemed to her as if he divined Mrs. Paradyne's reproachful words. She waited for an answer.
"After I had made the agreement with Dr. Brabazon to come here, I wrote to Mrs. Paradyne. She wanted, as I knew, to place her son at a first-class school, and I thought I might give him some little extra attention."
"Just so. It was very kind of you. Mrs. Paradyne has an idea that the boys are shunning him," added Miss Brabazon.
"I believe they are. But why, I cannot find out, for I don't think they have any clue to the past. I tell George Paradyne he will live it down."
"To be sure he will. There is a daughter also, I find—a teacher in a school."
For one moment Mr. Henry turned and looked sharply, questioningly, at Miss Brabazon; as if he would ask how much more Mrs. Paradyne had told her. But it was evident that he shunned the subject; and he made no comment whatever on this additional item of news. An idea flashed over Miss Brabazon that Mr. Henry was attached to this young lady; but why it did so she could not have told.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Henry."
He bowed his adieu, and Miss Brabazon went round to the house-door, and thence to the kitchen. Mrs. Butter was standing there in a fury, surrounded by coils of string and a heap of paper.
"Look here, Miss Emma," was her salutation; and she was familiar with Miss Brabazon from having formerly lived servant in the college. "If those boys don't have something done to them, it's a shocking shame. There comes a railway porter to the door five minutes ago—'A parcel for you, ma'am,' he says to me, 'fourpence to pay!' Well, I was expecting a parcel from my brother, and I paid the fourpence and took it in. 'What on earth has made Bill tie it up with all this string for, and wrap it round with all this paper?' says I as I undid it. First string, and then paper; then string, and then paper; and curious round holes bored in all of it, as if done with a big iron skewer. But it never struck me—no, Miss Emma, it never struck me; and I went on and on till I came to the last wrap, and was bending over that to see whatever it could be, done up so careful, when a live mouse jumped out in my face. I shrieked out so, that it brought the German gentleman in—he thought I was afire. Between us we caught the mouse, and there he is, in a pail o' water, which is where them boys ought to be. The depth of 'em! boring them holes to keep the animal alive, and getting a railway porter to come with it, as bold as brass!"
Emma Brabazon, staid lady of thirty though she was, stood coughing behind her handkerchief. "But how do you know it was the boys?" she asked.
"Know!" wrathfully retorted Mrs. Butter. "There's fifty faces turned on to the house now from the playground, if there's one; and all of 'em as meek as lambs! Just look at 'em!"
Thinking she would leave the ketchup for a more auspicious occasion, Miss Brabazon went away, leaving Mrs. Butter fuming and grumbling. Sundry faces certainly were still scanning the house; but Miss Brabazon appeared to see nothing, and went on her way. In turning round by the chapel, she encountered the senior boy.
"Did you send that present to Mrs. Butter just now, Gall?"
"A present, Miss Brabazon?"
"A live mouse done up in a parcel."
Gall stared, and then laughed. He knew nothing of it. The seniors were above those practical tricks. "It was the second desk, no doubt," he said. "Am I to inquire into it, Miss Brabazon?"
"No, not from me. But they should not tease the old woman beyond bearing."
"She is of a cranky temper," said Gall.
"And the boys make it worse. Gall," added Miss Brabazon, her tone changing, and the senior boy thought it bore a touch of fear, "you have not discovered yet who fired the pistol?"
"Not at all. We begin to think now, Miss Brabazon, that it was not one of us."
"Ah," she said, turning her face away. "What is the cause of this feeling against the new boy, George Paradyne?" she continued, and the question seemed to come abruptly after the pause.
"I don't know," replied Gall, excessively surprised that it should be asked him. "I perceive there is some feeling against Paradyne; I suppose because he is an outsider."
"Gall, you have more sense, more thought, than some of your companions, and I can speak to you confidentially, as one friend would speak to another," resumed Miss Brabazon. "Ascertain, if you can, the cause of this feeling, without making a fuss, you know; and tell me what it is. Soothe it down if possible; make the boy's way easy amidst you. I am sure he does not deserve to be shunned."
Gall touched his cap, much flattered, and went on his way. Not into school: he had been invited out to dinner with his father, as Mrs. Gall had said, and had leave from Dr. Brabazon until eleven o'clock. This gave a golden opportunity to the seniors, of which they were not slow to avail themselves. In recording the doings of a large school, where truth is adhered to, the bad has to be told with the good.
Smoking was especially forbidden: nothing was so certainly followed by punishment as the transgression of the rule. Not only was it sternly interdicted, but Dr. Brabazon talked kindly and earnestly to the boys in private. The habit when acquired early was most pernicious, he reiterated to them; frequently inducing paralysis by middle age. He gave Gall special instructions to be watchful; and this was well; the senior boy was faithful to the trust reposed in him, and, though the vigilance of the masters could be eluded, it was not so easy to escape his. But on occasions like this, when Gall's back was turned, certain of the seniors who liked a cigar, or pipe, or screw—anything—when they could get it, seized on the opportunity, in defiance of rules and the Head Master.
They set about the recreation this evening in the privacy of their chamber. There were seven beds in it, occupied by Gall, Loftus, Trace, Irby, Fullarton, Savage, and Brown major. Taking off their jackets and putting out the candle, they drew the window up to its height slowly and gingerly, and lighted their cigars. Not Trace: he had never been seen with anything of the sort in his mouth; and it always made Brown major sick, fit to die; but he considered it manly to persevere. There they stood at the window, puffing away, laughing and talking in an undertone. News of Mrs. Butter's present had run the round of the school, and the seniors, though loftily superior to such things in public, did not disdain to enjoy that and other interesting events in private. That lady's domicile was in full view; her large dog lay in the garden. It was the fourth dog she had tried, and those wicked reptiles (one of Mrs. Butter's laudatory names for them) had made friends with each animal in succession, and so bribed him to their interests.
"I say, what is it that's up against Paradyne?" suddenly asked Brown major, glad of any opportunity to get that miserable cigar out of his mouth.
Nobody answered: the boys were too lazy, or the cigars too exacting. That Brown major had a trick of bringing up unpleasant topics. He asked again.
"He had no business to be put in our class," said Savage at length.
"Jove, no! But that wasn't his fault."
"An outsider and all," continued Savage. "It's the second desk, though, that are making the set at him."
"What has he done to them?"
"Bother!" said Savage, who was in some difficulty about his cigar.
Brown major was not to be put down; talking was more convenient than smoking just now. "Do you know, Trace?"
"It's no affair of mine," replied Trace coldly, and Irby exchanged a meaning glance with him in the starlight.
"This beastly cigar won't draw at all," exclaimed Savage.
"No, they won't," assented Fullarton, in much wrath; "and I paid threepence apiece for them." For the treat this evening was his. "It's a regular swindle."
"The best cigars—"
"Hist! Who's that?"
The warning came from Trace. Not being occupied as the rest were, his attention was awake, and a sound like a cough had caught his ear from underneath the window. Out went the heads and the cigars, which was a great want of caution. On the gravel walk below, pacing about before the Head Master's study, whose large bay window abutted outwards, was Mr. Henry.
"Take care, you fellows," murmured Trace; "it's that German spy."
In came the cigars. The boys, snatching them from their lips, held them behind, back-handed, and put out their heads again.
"What makes you call him a spy, Trace?" whispered Loftus.
"Because I know he is one. Mind! he saw the cigars: I watched him look up. I wonder what he is doing there."
The idea of a spy in the school—and he one of the masters—was not at all an agreeable prospect, and the smokers felt a sort of chill. "How do you know he is one, Trace?" asked Brown major.
"That's my business. I tell you that heis, and that's enough. I'd give half a crown to know what he is walking there for! He can't have any business there."
For the walk was a solitary walk, not leading to any particular spot; of course open to the inmates of the college, but nobody ever thought of going there at night. Hence the wonder. Perhaps its solitude may have made its attraction for Mr. Henry: quiet and still it lay, underneath the stars, but a minute or two's distance from his lodgings. The boys, peeping out still with hushed breath, saw him presently stroll away in the direction of his home, making no sign that he had observed them.
"Mark you," said Fullarton, much put out, "the fellow has stationed himself in those low-lived rooms of Mother Butter's to be a spy upon us. Trace is right."
But not one of them had known that during this little episode Brown minor came into the room on some mission to his brother, and had seen the red ends of the five cigars, just then held backwards. Divining that it might not be deemed a convenient moment for intrusion, young Mr. Brown withdrew quietly, leaving his errand unfulfilled; went back to his own room, and there whispered the news confidentially that the seniors were smoking.