The holidays were fast approaching. Ten days of the three weeks'
examination had passed, and every energy was exerted, and every
feeling of emulation called out, among those who had any hope of
obtaining the honors held out to the successful candidates. It was
surprising to see what could be, and what was, done. Even idle boys
who had let their fair amount of talent lie dormant during the half
year, now came forth, and, straining every nerve, were seen late and
early at work which should have been gradually mastered during the
last five months; denying themselves both recreation and sleep, with
an energy, which, had it been earlier exerted in only half the degree,
would have been highly laudable. Some of the latter, who possessed
great talent, were successful, but generally the prizes fell to the
lot of those who had throughout been uniformly steady, and who had
gained an amount of thorough information which the eager study of a
few weeks could not attain. Now there were beating hearts and anxious
faces, and noisy summing up of the day's successes or losses, when the
daily close of school proclaimed a truce to the emulous combatants.
A few there were who appeared totally indifferent as to the issue of
the contest, and who hailed the term of examination as entailing no set
tasks to be said the ensuing day under certain penalties, and, revelling
in extended play-hours, cared nothing for disgrace, having no character
to lose.
Reginald bid fair to carry off all, or nearly all, the second-class
honors; still, there were in his class several whose determined
efforts and talents gave him considerable work in winning the battle.
Amongst all this spirited warfare, it is not to be supposed
that Louis was tranquil; for, though naturally of an indolent
temperament, there was in him a fund of latent emulation, which
only wanted a stimulus such as the present to rouse him to action.
Louis was a boy of no mean ability, and now, fired with the hope of
distinguishing himself, and gaining a little honor that might efface
the remembrance of past idleness, and give some pleasure to his dear
parents, he applied himself so diligently and unremittingly to his
studies during the last month, as to astonish his masters.
I do not mean to particularize the subjects for examination given by
Dr. Wilkinson to the two upper classes, for this simple reason, that
my classical and mathematical ignorance might cause mistakes more
amusing to the erudite reader than pleasant to the author. It shall
be sufficient to say, that whatever these subjects had been, the day's
examination had gone through in a manner equally creditable to masters
and pupils; and after a few turns in the fresh air when tea was over,
a knot, comprising the greater part of the above-mentioned classes,
assembled round their head man to congratulate him on his undoubted
successes, and to talk over the events of the day elsewhere. Reginald
and Louis could spare little time for talking, and were walking up and
down the playground, questioning and answering each other with the most
untiring diligence, though both of them had been up since four o'clock
that morning. There were a few who had risen still earlier, and who now
lay fast asleep on forms in the school-room, or endeavored to keep their
eyes open by following the example of our hero and his brother.
"John's fast asleep," said Salisbury, laughing; "he has a capital way
of gaining time--by getting up at half-past three, and falling asleep
at seven."
"How does he stand for the prizes?" asked Smith.
"I'm sure I can't tell you; I suppose Mortimer's sure of the first
classics and history--and he ought, for he's coming to us next half.
John's next to him."
"I hear little Mortimer's winning laurels," remarked Trevannion.
"Oh! for _him_," said Harris, a second-class boy, "because he's
been such a dunce before;--I suspect Ferrers helps him."
"Ferrers!" cried all at once, and there was a laugh--"Do you hear,
Ferrers?"
"Of course I do," replied Ferrers.
"He's not good-natured enough," remarked another.
"He needs no help," said Ferrers.
"You're sure of the mathematical prize, Ferrers; and Hamilton,
of course, gets that for Latin composition."
Ferrers did not reply--his thoughts had flown to Louis, from whom they
were now seldom absent; and, though he had been generally successful,
yet the settled gloom and anxiety of his manner led many to suppose
that he entertained fears for the issue of his examination. There were
others who imagined that there was some deeper cause of anxiety preying
on his mind, or that he was suffering from illness and fatigue--and one
or two made mysterious remarks on his intimacy with Louis, and wondered
what all foreboded.
"I wonder who'll get the medal," said one.
"Hamilton, of course," replied Smith.
"You're out there," said Frank Digby. "My magic has discovered that
either the Lady Louisa or myself will obtain it. I admire your
selfishness, young gentlemen--you assign to yourselves every thing,
and leave us out of the question. If I can't be a genius, I mean to
be a good boy."
Many bitter remarks were then made on Louis' late good behavior, and a
few upon his manner towards Ferrers, which, by some, was styled meanness
of the highest degree.
Ferrers could not endure it--he left the circle and walked about the
playground alone, full of remorse, thinking over every plan he had
formed for making amends to Louis for all. He looked up once or twice
with a gasping effort, and, oh! in the wrinkled and contracted forehead
what trouble might be read. "Oh! that it were a dream," he at last
uttered, "that I could wake and find it a warning."
There was a soft, warm hand in his, and Louis' gentle voice replied,
"Do not grieve now about me, Ferrers, it will soon be over."
Ferrers started and drew his hand away.
"You are not angry with me, are you?" said Louis; "I saw you alone,
and I was afraid you wanted comfort--I did not like to come before,
for fear the boys should make remarks, Reginald especially."
Ferrers looked at Louis a minute without speaking, and then, pushing
him off, walked quickly to the house, and did not show himself any more
that evening.
* * * * *
Breakfast had long been finished, and the school was once more
assembled; the second class was waiting impatiently on the raised
end of the school-room for the doctor's entrance, or for a summons
to his presence; and near, at their several desks, busily writing
answers to a number of printed questions, sat the first class. It
was nearly an hour past the time, and impatient eyes were directed
to the clock over the folding-doors, which steadily marked the
flying minutes.
"Where can the doctor be?" had been asked many times already,
but no one could answer.
"We shall have no time--we shall not get done before night,"
muttered several malcontents. "What can keep the doctor?"
At this moment the folding-doors were quickly flung open, and
Dr. Wilkinson entered, and rapidly made his way towards the upper
end of the school-room, but in such a state of unwonted agitation
that the boys were by common consent hushed into silence, and every
occupation was suspended to watch their master's movements. "How
strange he looks!" whispered one; "something's the matter."
Dr. Wilkinson took no notice of the open eyes and mouths of his
awe-struck pupils--all his aim seemed to be to reach his seat with
the greatest speed.
"What's the row?" muttered Salisbury, in an under-tone to Hamilton,
having some idea that the latter could afford a clue to the clearing
up of the mystery. "Do you know of any thing, Hamilton?" Hamilton
shook his head, and fairly stood up to see what was going on.
Dr. Wilkinson at length reached his place, and there stood a few
minutes to collect himself. He then looked around, and asked, in a
quick, low tone, for Louis Mortimer. Louis was almost behind him,
and in some terror presented himself; though he was unconscious of
any misdemeanor, he did not know what new suspicion might have attached
to him. His gentle "Here, sir," was distinctly heard in every part of
the large room, in the breathless silence which now ruled. Dr. Wilkinson
looked on him, but there was no anger in his gaze--his eyes glistened,
and though there might be indignation mixed with the many emotions
struggling for expression in his countenance, Louis felt, as he raised
his timid eyes, that there was nothing now to fear. The doctor seemed
incapable of speaking; after one or two vain efforts he placed both
hands on Louis' head, and uttered a deep "God bless you!"
It would be impossible to describe the flood of rapture which this
action poured upon poor Louis. The endurance of the last few weeks was
amply repaid by the consciousness that somehow--and he did not consider
how--his innocence was established, and now, in the presence of his
school-fellows, publicly acknowledged.
For another minute Dr. Wilkinson stood with both hands resting on the
head of his gentle pupil, then, removing one, he placed it under Louis'
chin, and turned the glowing face up to himself and smiled--such a smile
none remembered ever to have seen on that stern face.
"Have you found all out, sir?" cried Reginald, starting forward.
The doctor's hand motioned him back, and turning Louis round, so as
to face the school, he said in a distinct, yet excited manner,
"Young gentlemen, we have been doing a wrong unconsciously, and I,
as one of the first, am anxious to make to the subject of it the only
reparation in my power, by declaring to you all that Louis Mortimer
is entirely innocent of the offence with which he was charged; and
I am sure I may say in the name of you all, as well as of myself,
that we are very sorry that he should have suffered so much on
account of it."
[Illustration: Dr. Wilkinson proclaims Louis innocent.]
There was a hum all around, and many of the lower school who knew
nothing of the matter, began whispering among themselves. But all
was hushed directly the doctor resumed his speech.
"There are some among you who are not aware, I believe, to what I allude;
but those who do know, can bear testimony to the gentle endurance of
false accusation that Louis Mortimer has exhibited during the whole time
he has been made to suffer so severely for the fault of another. I cannot
express my admiration of his conduct--conduct which I am sure has had
for its foundation the fear and love of God. Stay, gentlemen," said
the doctor, stilling with a motion of his hand the rising murmur of
approbation, "all is not yet told. This patient endurance might be
lauded as an unusual occurrence, were there nothing more--but there
is more. Louis Mortimer might have produced proofs of his innocence
and cleared himself in the eyes of us all."
"Louis!" exclaimed Reginald, involuntarily.
Louis' head was down as far as his master's hand would allow it, and deep
crimson blushes passed quickly over the nearly tearful face--and now the
remembrance of Ferrers, poor Ferrers, who had surely told all. Louis felt
very sorry for him, and almost ashamed on his own account. He wished he
could get behind his master, but that was impossible, and he stood still,
as the doctor continued, "Three weeks ago Louis discovered that a little
boy was in the study on the day when Kenrick's Key was abstracted, who
could, of course, bring the desired information--the information which
would have righted him in all our eyes; but mark--you who are ready to
revenge injuries--because this would have involved the expulsion of one
who had deeply injured him, he has never, by sign or word, made known to
any one the existence of such information, persuading the little boy also
to keep the secret; and this, which from him I should never have learned,
I have just heard from the guilty person, who, unable to bear the remorse
of his own mind, has voluntarily confessed his sin and Louis' estimable
conduct. Young gentlemen, I would say to all of you, 'GO AND DO LIKEWISE.'"
During this speech, Reginald had hardly been able to control himself,
especially when he found that Louis had never mentioned his knowledge
to himself; and now he sprang forward, unchecked by the doctor, and,
seizing his brother, who was immediately released, asked, "Why did you
not tell me, Louis? How was it I never guessed?"
While he spoke, there was a buz of inquiry at the lower end of the
school, and those who knew the story crowded eagerly up to the dais
to speak to Louis. Alfred's voice was very distinct, for he had worked
himself up to his brother:
"Edward, tell me all about it. I'm sure if I'd known I'd have told.
I didn't know why Louis was so joyful."
Edward could answer nothing: his heart was as full as the doctor's, and
with almost overflowing eyes and a trembling step, he pushed his way to
Louis, who had thrown himself on Reginald and was sobbing violently.
"Louis, I'm very sorry," said one. "Louis, you'll forgive me--I'm sure
I beg pardon," said other voices; and others added, "How good you are!--I
shouldn't have done it."
Louis raised his head from that dear shoulder, so often the place where
it had rested in his troubles, and said, amidst his sobs,
"Oh! don't praise me. I was very unwilling to do it."
"Let him alone," said the doctor. "Reginald, take him up stairs.
Gentlemen, I can do nothing more, nor you neither, I think, to-day.
I shall give you a holiday for the remainder of it."
There was a lull in the noise as Dr. Wilkinson spoke, but just as Louis
was going out, there arose a deafening cheer, three times repeated, and
then the boys picked up their books and hurried out of doors.
Louis' heart was full of gratitude, but at the same time it was
sobered by the recollection of what Ferrers must now suffer, and the
doubt he felt respecting his fate; and as soon as he had recovered
himself, he sought the doctor to beg pardon for him.
"As he has voluntarily confessed his fault, I shall not expel him,"
replied the doctor; "but I intend that he shall beg your pardon before
the school."
Louis, however, pleaded so earnestly that he had already suffered enough,
and begged as a favor that nothing more might be said, that at length
Dr. Wilkinson gave way.
The sensation that this event had caused in the school was very great:
those who had been loudest in condemning Louis, were now the loudest in
his praise, and most anxious to load him with every honor; and when he
made his appearance among them with Reginald, whose manly face beamed
with satisfaction and brotherly pride, he was seized by a party, and
against his will, chaired round the playground, everywhere greeted by
loud cheers, with now and then "A groan for Ferrers!"
"Louis, my man, you look sorrowful," said Hamilton, as he was landed
at last on the threshold of the school-room door.
"No, no," said Salisbury, who had been foremost in the rioting;
"cheer up, Louis--what's the matter?"
"I am afraid," said Louis, turning away.
"Afraid! of what old boy?" said Salisbury. "Come, out with it."
"I am afraid you will make me think too much of what ought not to be
thought of at all--you are all very kind, but--"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Salisbury; "we're all so vexed that we have been
such bears, and we want to make it up."
"I am sure I do not think any thing about it now," said Louis, holding
out both his hands and shaking all by turns; "I am very happy. Will you
let me ask one thing of you?"
"A hundred," was the reply; "and we'll fly on Mercury's pennons to do
your bidding."
"Put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes," said Frank Digby.
"When poor Ferrers comes among us, for my sake, do not take any notice
of what has happened."
There was a dark cloud on the faces before Louis, and Hamilton's lip
trembled with scorn. No reply was made.
"I am the only one who has any thing to forgive; please promise me to
leave him alone."
"Then," said Salisbury, abruptly, "whenever he comes in, I walk out,
for I can't sit in the same room and be civil.
"I shan't be particularly inclined to favor him with my discourse,"
said Frank; "so I promise to leave him alone."
"Will you try to be the same as you were before? Do!" said Louis.
"That's impossible!" they all cried; "we _cannot_, Louis."
"If you only knew how unhappy he has been, you would pity him very much,"
said Louis, sorrowfully. "He has been so very sad--and do not talk of
this to other people, please. I should be so much more happy if you
would try to be the same to him."
"All we can promise, is not to notice it, Louis," said Hamilton;
"and now, don't be sad any longer."
Yet Louis was sad and anxious; though now and then a thought that all
was clear, darted like a sunbeam across his mind, and called forth a
grateful emotion. He longed for the holidays to come,--the favor he was
in was almost painful.
Ferrers was invisible till the next evening, when he joined his
class-fellows at prayers. In spite of the half-promise Louis had
obtained from them, a studied unconsciousness of his presence, and
a chilling coldness, greeted him. Louis alone stood by him, and looked
in the deadly white countenance by him with heartfelt sympathy and
compassion; and glanced at several of his companions to remind them
of his wish. Ferrers seemed hardly the same; the proud, bullying air of
arrogance had given place to a saddened, subdued despair; and yet his
expression was far more pleasing in its humility than the natural one.
One or two, noticing Louis' anxiety, addressed him civilly, and even
wished him "Good-night!" which he did not return by more than an
inclination of the head. He expected no pity, and had nerved himself
to bear the scorn he had brought on himself; but any attention was a
matter of surprise to him.