FOUND!

The little company of watchers sprang to their feet with one accord and

listened, as Stephen wildly flung up the window. The storm burst into

the room as he did so, with all its vehemence, drenching those who stood

near, and deafening every one with its roar. But no other sound could

be heard. Stephen, heedless of the weather, stood motionless with his

head out of the window, listening. Alas! it must have been a false hope

after all--a brother's fancy.

"A mistake, I fear," said Dr Senior. "Greenfield, I think you had

better close the window. It will be daylight in--"

He had not time to finish his sentence, for with a sudden exclamation

and a shout of, "There it is again; come, Wray!" the boy had leapt from

the low window, half clad as he was, into the garden.

For Wraysford to follow him was the work of an instant. Mr Rastle and

Roach the porter did the same, while the others went hurriedly out into

the passage to the hall door. Close as they were to one another,

Wraysford lost sight of Stephen for a moment in the blinding sleet which

dashed full in their faces. But he heard him shouting a few yards off,

and was at his side the same moment.

"No use shouting," said he, "against the wind."

"I _must_ shout!" exclaimed Stephen, calling out once more.

"Where--what did you hear?" asked Wraysford.

"Some one shouting. I'm positive of it!" said the boy, plunging

forward.

"Stand still, and listen again," said Wraysford; "we may be going all

wrong."

It was all he could do to keep the younger boy still for a few seconds.

What ages those seconds seemed!

A voice somewhere? No, only Mr Rastle and Roach coming up behind.

"Well?" inquired the master, breathlessly.

"Hush!" said Stephen, turning his head to the wind to listen.

What a wind it was! Surely it would beat any voice to shreds!

"We may as well go on," said the boy, impatiently.

"Wait a second or two longer," said Wraysford.

Scarcely had he spoken when, joyous sound! there came on the wind from

somewhere what sounded like a feeble shout!

In an instant all four bounded forward and were once more lost in the

storm.

But they had hope, and every moment, a night like this, was precious.

They groped down the garden walk, and towards the meadow, shouting as

they went. Then presently they halted again and listened.

Yes there was the call again, and nearer. Thank Heaven! they were on

the right track. On they went once more. Another shout! Nearer still!

Oh, for a lull in the tempest, that they might give one shout back!

"Try," said Mr Rastle, "they may hear it. Here, Roach, come and

shout--one, two, three, and a--"

What a shout it was! The wind got hold of it as if it had been a

sparrow's twitter, and tossed it mockingly over their heads and far away

behind them, who knows where? "It's no go," said Wraysford. "Hullo,

here's the meadow ditch. Hadn't we better follow it up and down?

Stephen and I will take the left."

Once more, as they turned, a shout!

"Oh, be quick!" cried Stephen. "Where does it come from? Come, Wray,

quick!"

They might as well have tried to fly as run against that wind; but they

crawled rapidly forward.

Suddenly, close at their side, rose the shout again. With a bound the

two boys were over the ditch, and in another moment a fourfold shout

proclaimed that the wanderers were found!

Oliver and Loman were crouching under a tree, the former without coat or

waistcoat, which he had thrown round the shivering and now senseless

form of his companion.

It was no time for words, either of joy or explanation; time enough for

that when every one was safe indoors. Mr Rastle and Roach between them

carried Loman, while Oliver, in scarcely better plight, was helped along

by his brother and friend.

"Is it far?" he asked, faintly.

"No, old man; that light there is Saint Dominic's."

"Is it? I didn't know that when I shouted; I thought we were miles

away."

"Oh, no! Hold up, old boy; we're just there."

And so this strange procession returned before the wind to Saint

Dominic's, and when, a few minutes later, watchers and rescuers and

rescued all gathered in the Doctor's study, Oliver, as well as Loman,

was insensible.

It was some days before the true story of that terrible night could be

told, and then Oliver only told it briefly.

Late in the afternoon, as he was about to turn back, he said, he heard

from a farmer's boy that he had seen a stranger that morning asleep

under a hedge about a mile off. Vague as this information was, it

decided Oliver at once to go forward, which he did. As might have been

expected, there was no trace of the "stranger" at the hedge, and no

amount of searching along it could discover any clue. Still, he did not

like to turn back while a chance remained. He went on towards Grandham,

inquiring of everybody and looking everywhere.

At last--it was getting dusk--he entered a field across which ran a

footpath which led direct to Grandham Green. He was half way across,

wondering if he could by any chance find a cart or vehicle of any kind

to drive him back to Saint Dominic's, when at the other side of the

field he suddenly caught sight of a figure getting up from under the

hedge and moving quickly away. He instantly and instinctively gave

chase. The other, seeing he was discovered, began to run too. It was

Loman. Oliver called to him to stop, but he paid no heed. He continued

to run as long as he could, and then, like a hunted animal, turned at

bay.

Oliver told very few all that had passed when finally he did come up

with the wanderer. His first impression, judging from the unhappy boy's

strange and excited manner, was that he had gone out of his mind. He

appeared reckless and desperate at first, and determined to resist all

attempts to bring him back. He would sooner die than go back to Saint

Dominic's, he said. What right had Oliver to interfere with him and dog

him in this way? He had a right to go where he chose, and no one should

stop him. Oliver let him talk on, not attempting to reply, and avoiding

all appearance of using force to detain him.

This wise policy had its effect. In time the poor fellow, who was

really suffering more from hunger and fatigue (he had not had a morsel

of food since the afternoon before) than from anything else, quieted

down, and gave up further resistance. Oliver told him, in as few words

as he could, of the distress which his disappearance had caused at Saint

Dominic's and to his parents, and besought him to return quietly,

promising forgiveness for the past, and undertaking that all would be

made right if he would only come home.

Loman listened to all doggedly. "You're humbugging me!" he said. "You

know I stole that paper?"

"Oh, don't talk of that!" cried Oliver. "Do come back!"

"You know--can't you get me something to eat?"

As he said this he sunk down with a groan upon the grass. Oliver

started wildly to rush to the nearest cottage. As he did so, however, a

doubt crossed his mind, and he said, "You'll promise to wait here, will

you?"

"Oh, yes! be quick."

Oliver flew on the wings of the wind towards the village. There was a

cottage a few hundred yards away. As he neared it, he cast one look

back. The wretched boy was on his feet, hurrying away in an opposite

direction.

Another chase ensued, though only a short one. For Loman was in no

condition to hold out long. Oliver half led, half dragged him to

Grandham, where at last he procured food, which the unhappy fugitive

devoured ravenously. Then followed another talk, far more satisfactory

than the last. Restored once more in body and mind, Loman consented

without further demur to accompany Oliver back to Saint Dominic's, but

not before he had unburdened his mind of all that was on it.

Oliver implored him not to do it now, to wait till he got back, and then

to tell all to his father, not to him. But the poor penitent was not to

be put off. Until he had confessed all he would not stir a foot back to

the school.

Then Oliver heard all that sad story with which the reader is now

familiar. How that first act of fraud about the rod had been the

beginning of all this misery. How Cripps had used his advantage to

drive the boy from one wickedness and folly to another--from deceit to

gambling, from gambling to debt, from debt to more deceit, and so on.

How drinking, low company, and vicious habits had followed. How all the

while he was trying to keep up appearances at the school, though he saw

that he was gradually becoming an object of dislike to his fellows. How

he had staked everything--his whole hope of getting free from Cripps--on

the result of the Nightingale examination; and how, when the critical

moment came, he yielded to the tempter and stole the paper.

"And you can fancy how punished I was when, after all, the Doctor missed

the paper and altered the questions, Greenfield. I was so taken aback

that I didn't even answer as well as I could. And then I lost the paper

I had stolen--couldn't find it anywhere, and for weeks I was in constant

terror lest it should turn up. Then I saw the fellows were all

suspecting you to be the thief, and you know how meanly I took advantage

of that to hide my own guilt. Oh, Greenfield, what a wretch, what a

miserable wretch I have been!"

"Poor fellow!" said Oliver, with true sympathy. "But, I say, do let's

be going back, it's getting late, and looks as if it might rain."

"I _must_ tell you the rest, Greenfield, please. You're the only fellow

I can tell it to. Somehow I think if I'd had a friend like you all the

last year I shouldn't have gone wrong as I have. How I used to envy you

and Wraysford, always together, and telling one another your troubles!

Well, of course, after the Nightingale exam, things were worse than

ever. I'd given Cripps a bill, you know, a promise to pay in September.

I don't know anything about bills, but he made me sign it. Of course I

couldn't pay when it came due, and had to make all sorts of excuses and

tell all sorts of lies to get him to give me more time; as if I was more

likely to pay later on than then! But, somehow, if I could only get the

thing off my mind for the present, I felt that was all I cared about.

He gave in at last, and I was able to pay it off bit by bit. But I was

in constant terror all that term of his coming up to Saint Dominic's.

You know he did come once, at the football match against Landfield, and

I thought I was done for."

Here Loman paused a moment, and Oliver, seeing that he was determined to

tell his story to the end, waited patiently till he continued.

"Then there was that Waterston exam. I fancied I might get that if I

worked. Ass that I was to think, after all my wasted time and sin, I

had any chance against you or Wraysford! I tried to work, but soon gave

it up, and went on going down to the Cockchafer instead, to keep Cripps

in good humour, till I was quite a regular there. You know what a

fearful hash I made of the exam. I could answer nothing. That very day

Cripps had sent up to threaten to tell the Doctor everything unless I

paid what I still owed. I had paid off all the bill but eight pounds.

I had got some of it from home, and some of it by gambling; I'd paid off

all but eight pounds. You know, Greenfield, who lent me that."

"I'm thankful we were able to do it," said Oliver.

"If you'd known how I hated you and despised myself over that eight

pounds you would hardly have been glad. Everything was hateful. I took

the money down to Cripps and paid it him. He pretended at first that he

wouldn't take it; and then when he did, and I asked him to give me back

my promissory note, he laughed at me. I nearly went mad, Greenfield, at

the thought of not being clear after all. At length he did make believe

to give in, and produced what I thought was the bill, and tore it up in

my presence. I couldn't see it, but he read it out aloud, and I had no

doubt it was actually the thing. I was so grateful I actually felt

happy. But then came the discovery of that miserable exam paper. I

must have left it in my Juvenal last September, and forgotten all about

it. I was certain the Doctor knew quite well I was the thief, but I

denied it and tried feebly to put it on you. Then everybody cut me; but

I hoped still all might blow over in time. But every day it became

harder to bear; I should have had to confess at last, I believe. Then

came Cripps's final villainy. He had never destroyed my bill after all,

but now calmly claimed the whole amount."

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Oliver, indignantly.

"I had no receipts to show what I had paid, and of course was at his

mercy. This last move really drove me half crazy. I daren't tell any

one about it. I was too desperate to think of anything but running away

and hiding somewhere. I had no money. I came to you with a lie to try

to borrow a pound, so that I might go somewhere by train. You couldn't

do it, and so I had to walk, and--and--oh! Greenfield, what shall I do?

what will become of me?"

"My dear fellow," said Oliver, laying his hand on the unhappy boy's arm,

"we'll go back together, and I can promise you you'll find nothing but

kindness and forgiveness when you get back. If I wasn't sure of that, I

wouldn't urge you to come. There! I wish you could have seen your poor

father's face last night."

Loman held out no longer; and, indeed, it was high time to think of

moving, for the afternoon was closing in and rain was already beginning

to fall.

Loman was in no condition for walking, nor, indeed, was Oliver, who had

been on his feet since early morning. A farmer's cart was with some

difficulty found, which happened to be going a good part of the

distance, and in this the two boys late that afternoon ensconced

themselves. They talked little at first, and presently not at all.

Each had his own thoughts, and they were serious enough to occupy them

for a much longer journey.

Night fell presently, soon after they had started, and with it the rain

and wind came heavily. There was little enough protection for these two

worn-out ones in an empty open cart, but what they could get from an old

wrap and some boards they secured.

As the storm grew worse this poor shelter became quite useless, and the

two boys suffered all the horrors of a bitter exposure.

Loman, who had got a cough already, was the first to show distress, and

he soon became so cold and numbed that Oliver grew alarmed. They would

be better walking than sitting still in that jolting cart a night like

this.

So, much against their own inclination and the advice of the carman, who

characterised the proceedings as "tomfoolery," they alighted, and

attempted to take the short cut across the fields to Saint Dominic's.

Short cut, indeed! It was indeed a sarcastic name for the road those

two boys took that terrible night. Oliver could never recollect all

that happened those few hours. He was conscious of the tremendous

storm, of the hopeless losing of their way, and of Loman's relapse into

a state of half-unconsciousness, in the midst of which he constantly

begged to be allowed to lie down and sleep.

To prevent this was Oliver's principal occupation during that fearful

time. More than once he was forced into a hand-to-hand struggle to keep

his companion from his purpose. To let him lie down and sleep on such a

night would be, he knew, to leave him to certain death. At any cost he

must be kept moving. At last the storm fairly vanquished them. Even

Oliver began to grow half-hearted in his determination. He took off his

own coat and waistcoat and pat them on his comrade, who by this time was

stupid with cold and exhaustion. A few minutes longer and both might

have given themselves up, when suddenly there flickered a light before

them. All Oliver could do was to shout. He had no power left to drag

Loman farther, and leave him he would not. He shouted, and the reader

knows who heard that shout, and what the answer was.

Such was Oliver's story, and it needed little amplification. If it had,

the only boy who could have added to it was in no position to do so.

For four weeks after that night Loman lay ill with rheumatic fever, so

ill that more than once those who watched him despaired of his recovery.

But he did recover, and left Saint Dominic's a convalescent, and,

better still, truly penitent, looking away from self and his own poor

efforts to Him, the World's Great Burden Bearer, whose blood "cleanseth

us from all sin."

His schoolfellows saw him no more; did not know, indeed, when he left

them. Only one of them shook hands with him at the door of the old

school as he went. That boy was Oliver Greenfield.