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ORVILLE COLLEGE
A STORY.
BY
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1867.
_The Right of Translation is reserved_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. In the Plantation.
II. The New Boy.
III. Hard and Obstinate as Nails.
IV. Sir Simon Orville's Offered Reward.
V. Mother Butter's Lodgings.
VI. Mr. Gall abroad.
VII. Mr. Lamb improves his Mind in Private.
VIII. A Loss.
IX. Christmas Day.
X. A Man in a Blaze.
XI. Only the Heat!
XII. In the Shop in Oxford Street.
XIII. If the Boys had but seen!
XIV. Over the Water.
XV. Dick's Bath.
XVI. The Duel.
XVII. Mr. Leek in Convulsions.
XVIII. Told at Last.
XIX. A Visitor for Sir Simon.
XX. As if Ill Luck followed him.
XXI. The Outbreak.
XXII. Before the Examiners.
XXIII. Falling from a Pinnacle.
XXIV. In the Quadrangle.
XXV. Very Peacefully.
XXVI. The End.
ORVILLE COLLEGE.
CHAPTER I.
In the Plantation.
The glowing sunset of a September evening was shining on the fair
grounds around Orville College, lighting up the scene of stir and
bustle invariably presented on the return of the boys to their studies
after the periodical holidays. A large, comfortable-looking, and very
irregular building was this college. But a moderate-sized house
originally, it had been added to here, and enlarged there, and raised
yonder, at different times as necessity required, and with regard to
convenience only, not to uniformity of architecture. The whole was of
red brick, save the little chapel jutting out at one end; _that_ was of
white brick, with black divisional strokes, as if the architect had a
mind to make some distinction by way of reverence. The Head Master's
house faced the lawn and the wide gravel carriage-drive that encircled
it; the school apartments, ending in the chapel, were built on the
house's left; the sleeping-rooms and domestic offices were on its
right. It was only a private college—in fact, a school—founded many
years ago by a Dr. Orville, and called after him; but it gradually
became renowned in the world, and was now of the very first order of
private colleges.
Situated near London, in the large and unoccupied tracts of land lying
between the north and the west districts, when the college was first
erected, nothing could be seen near it but green fields. It was in a
degree isolated still, but time had wrought its natural changes; a few
gentlemen's houses had grown up around, and a colony of small shops
came with them. The latest improvement, or innovation, whichever you
like to call it, had been a little brick railway station, and the
rushing, thundering trains, which seemed to be always passing, would
occasionally condescend to halt, and pick up or set down the Orville
travellers. In want of a name, when the houses spoken of began to
spring up, it had called itself Orville Green—which was as good a name
for the little suburb as any other.
Dr. Brabazon, the head master, stood at the door to receive his coming
guests. It had been more consistent possibly with the reserve and
dignity of a head master, to have ensconced himself in a state-chair
within the walls of his drawing-room or library, and given the boys a
gracious bow as each introduced himself. Not so the doctor. He was the
most simple-mannered man in the world—as these large-hearted and
large-minded men are apt to be,—and he stood at the hall door, or went
to it perpetually, with a hearty smile and outstretched hands for each
fresh arrival. A portly, genial man he, of near sixty years, with an
upright line of secret care on his brow that sat ill upon it, as if it
had no business there.
The boys on this occasion came up, as was usual, to the front, or
doctor's entrance; not to their own entrance near the chapel. The
number of students altogether did not exceed a hundred. About forty of
these were resident at the head master's; the rest—or nearly the
rest—were accommodated at the houses of other of the masters, and a
very few—eight or ten at the most—attended as outdoor pupils, their
friends living near. No difference whatever was made in the education,
but these last were somewhat looked down upon by the rest of the boys.
They arrived variously; some driven from town in their fathers'
handsome carriages, some in cabs, some used the new rail and walked
from thence, some had come by omnibus. Dr. Brabazon received all alike,
with the same genial smile, the same cordial grasp of the hand. He
liked all to make their appearance on the eve of school, that the roll
might be written and called: the actual business beginning on the
morrow.
A pair of beautiful long-tailed ponies, drawing a low four-wheeled open
carriage, came round the gravel sweep with a quiet dash. The driver was
a well-grown youth, who had entered his eighteenth year. He had high,
prominent features of an aquiline cast, and large sleepy blue eyes: a
handsome face, certainly, but spoilt by its look of pride. His
attention during his short drive—for they had not come far—had been
absorbed by his ponies and by his own self-importance as he drove them.
It was one of the senior boys, Albert Loftus. By his side sat another
of the seniors, a cousin, Raymond Trace, a quiet-looking youth of no
particular complexion, and his light eyes rather sunk in his head; eyes
that he had a habit of screwing together when at his studies. He had
been reading a book all the way, never once looking up at his cousin,
or the road, or the ponies, and answering in civil monosyllables when
spoken to. Behind sat another college boy, younger, Master Dick Loftus.
Master Dick possessed very little pride indeed, and was a contrast to
his brother. He had amused himself, coming along, with a pea-shooter,
and hung out a flag behind—all to the happy ignorance of the driver and
Mr. Trace. A groom in plain livery, nearly bursting with suppressed
laughter, made the fourth in the pretty carriage.
"Well, Loftus, I'm very glad to see you: you're rather late, though,
considering you are so close," was the doctor's greeting. "How are you,
Trace? Dick, you rebel, I hope we shall have no trouble this term."
The doctor laughed as he said it. Dick, a red-faced good-humoured boy,
met the hand and laugh readily. He knew he was a favourite, with all
his faults.
"Sir Simon's compliments to you, sir, and he will do himself the
pleasure of calling shortly," said Mr. Loftus. "Dick, take those things
away."
Mr. Loftus had slightly altered the phraseology of the message: "My
respects to Dr. Brabazon, and I'll give him a look in soon," was the
one sent. The groom had been depositing a few things on the ground, and
Dick was loading himself, when a close carriage drove in. A lady sat
inside it in solitary state, and a young gentleman sat on the roof
backwards.
"Halloa! It's Onions!"
The remark came from Mr. Dick Loftus. He dropped the things summarily,
went out, and began a dance in honour of the new arrival. Loftus the
elder seized on a square parcel done up in brown paper, and
disappeared, leaving the other things to their fate. "Onions" got down
by the chariot wheel, and shook hands with Dick.
They called him Onions as a sort of parody on his name, "Leek." The
college was in the habit of bestowing these nicknames. Joseph Leek, at
any rate, did not mind it, whatever others, thus distinguished, might
do; he would as soon be called Onions as Leek, at any time. Nothing
upset his temper or his equanimity. He was one of the coolest boys that
ever entered a school, and was a universal favourite. His father,
General Leek, was in India; his mother, Lady Sophia, whom Dr. Brabazon
was now assisting from the carriage, was an invalid in the matter of
nerves, and always thankful to get her son to school again the first
day of term.
The pony carriage drove off; Lady Sophia Leek's carriage was not long
in following; other carriages, and cabs, and flies came up and went;
and there was a lull in the arrivals. Dr. Brabazon was standing at his
drawing-room window (a light pretty room on the right of the hall) and
was trying to call to mind how many were still absent, when he saw some
one else approaching, a small black travelling-bag in one hand, and
dressed from head to foot in a suit of grey.
"Who's this?" cried he to himself. "It looks too tall for Gall."
Too tall certainly for Mr. Gall, who, though the senior boy of the
college, was undersized. And too old also. This gentleman looked two or
three-and-twenty; a slender man of middle height, with pale, delicate
features, and a sad sort of look in his pleasant dark eyes.
"It must be the new German master," thought Dr. Brabazon: and he
hurried out to meet him.
The new German master it was, Mr. Henry. There was a peculiar kind of
timid reticence in his manner which seemed foreign to himself, for his
face was a candid, open face, his voice frank. Dr. Brabazon put it down
to the natural shyness of one who has resided abroad. Mr. Henry, of
English birth, had been chiefly educated in Germany. He spoke German as
a native, French also: for some few years he had been a professor at
the University of Heidelberg, and had come thence now, strongly
recommended to Dr. Brabazon.
"I am very glad to see you," said the doctor, taking his hand in his
simple, cordial manner. "Welcome to England! I have been expecting you
since the morning."
"We had a bad passage, sir; the boat was late by many hours. It was due
at ten this morning, but we only got in an hour or two ago."
The words were spoken without any foreign accent. Not only that: the
tone was that of a refined Englishman. The fact gave satisfaction to
Dr. Brabazon, who liked his pupils to be surrounded by good
associations in all ways.
"Will you kindly tell me where I am to lodge?"
"Here, for a few days," said Dr. Brabazon. "As you were so complete a
stranger, we thought you might like best to fix, yourself, upon
lodgings. It is some years since you were in England, I think?"
"Nine years, sir."
"Nine years! Dear me! You have not many friends, then, I conclude, in
your own country?"
Mr. Henry shook his head. "Few men are much more friendless than I am."
And the accent sounded friendless. There was something singularly
attractive about this young man, in his gentle manner, his sensitive,
shrinking shyness (for so it seemed), his sad, earnest brown eyes: and
Dr. Brabazon's heart went out to him.
"You shall be shown your room, Mr. Henry," he said, "and then my
daughter will give you some tea."
Later, Dr. Brabazon took him through the passages, on either side of
which were rooms appropriated to particular studies, to the lofty hall,
which was the chief schoolroom. A long room, with high windows on one
side of it; the masters' desks in the angles of the room, and the long
desks of the boys ranged against the sides. Dr. Brabazon's place was at
the upper end, in the centre, facing the door, so that he commanded
full view of all. Three masters lived in the house: the Reverend Mr.
Jebb; Mr. Baker, the mathematical master, and Mr. Long, who took
English generally, some of the natural sciences, and was supposed to
superintend the boys out of hours. Mr. Jebb assisted Dr. Brabazon with
the classics, and the latter took divinity. The other masters lived
out. Dr. Brabazon introduced Mr. Henry to the clergyman and Mr. Long,
and left him. Mr. Baker was not there.
The boys were renewing private friendships, telling tales of their
holidays, hatching mischief for the coming term, criticising a few
new-comers, and making a continuous hum. Their ages varied from ten to
eighteen. On the whole, they seemed a rather superior set; for one
thing, the terms were high, and that tended to keep the school select.
A sudden "Hiss-is-s," from the lips of Master Richard Loftus—or, as he
was called in the school, Loftus minor—suppressed almost before it was
heard, caused the group, of whom he was the centre, to look round.
"What is it, Dick?"
"Don't you see?" whispered Dick. "A nice amount of brass _he_ must
have, to show himself here again! Look at him, Onions; he looks more of
a sneak than ever."
Onions lifted his eyebrows in his cool, but not ill-natured manner, as
he surveyed the boy coming in. It was Edwin Lamb. His hair was of a
glowing red, and his eyes had a kind of look as if they were not quite
straight. Not for that did the boys dislike him, but because he had
been found out in one or two dishonourable falsehoods: they brought it
out short, "lies:" and was more than suspected of carrying private
tales to Mr. Long. They called him "Le Monton," "the Sneak," "Jackal,"
and other pleasant names. In short, there was a great amount of
prejudice against him; more, perhaps, than the boy really deserved.
"Don't let any fellow speak to him! Don't let's——"
"Hold your tongue, Loftus minor. Allow bygones to be bygones. Time
enough to turn against Lamb when you find fresh cause."
The rebuke, spoken civilly, came from Raymond Trace, who happened to
overhear the words, and who never willingly offended anybody. Not that
Trace was a favourite in the college; none of them liked him much,
without being able to explain why. Dick Loftus turned with a quick,
scared look, wondering whether Mr. Trace had also overheard a private
colloquy he had been holding with a very chosen companion, Tom Smart.
He did not answer Trace; as a rule the younger fellows had to obey the
seniors.
At the sound of a bell, they began to hurry into a small place, called
the robing-closet, where their caps and gowns were kept. Putting on the
gowns, and carrying the caps in their hands, they went to the
call-room, waiting there to be marshalled into chapel. The caps, or
trenchers, were used always; the gowns were worn in chapel and on what
might be called state occasions, such as the examinations, also at
lectures; sometimes they wore them out of doors, but not in school
ordinarily, nor when they were at play. The masters' gowns, worn always
in public, were of the same make as the boys': the caps were all alike
in form, but the masters' were distinguished by a scarlet tassel in
addition to the black one.
It was a small pretty chapel, the size of an ordinary room, the lectern
slightly raised, and a standing desk for the lessons. The senior boys,
meaning those of the first desk, read the lessons in turn. Part of the
service was intoned, part read, part sung. Mr. Long, a good musician,
took the organ to-night, and Dr. Brabazon, as was mostly usual, was in
the reading desk. Mr. Loftus, as first senior present, left his place
to read the first lesson. He read very well; clearly and distinctly,
though somewhat coldly. Raymond Trace read the second lesson. His voice
was subdued; its accent to some ears almost offensively
humble—offensive because there was a ring in it of affected piety that
could never be genuine. No such voice as that, no such assumption of
humility, ever yet proceeded from a truly honest nature.
"That young man is a hypocrite!" involuntarily thought the new master,
Mr. Henry. "Heaven forgive me!" he added, a moment after; "what am I
that I should judge another?"
He did not know the name of the reader; he did not know yet the name of
any one of the boys surrounding him; but he had been studying their
faces, as it was natural he should do, considering that he had come to
live amongst them. Instinct led Mr. Henry to study the human
countenance—to be studying it always, unconsciously; and he was rarely
deceived in it.
On ordinary evenings the supper was served immediately after they came
out of chapel; but on this, when neither things nor scholars had shaken
down into their routine, there appeared no signs of its being ready.
Several of the fellows were expected yet, and the discipline, obtaining
customarily, had not commenced. Two of them, at any rate, took some
undue advantage of it. Going out after chapel was against the rules;
perhaps Mr. Dick Loftus considered he might, on this night, break it
with impunity.
Hanging up his gown in its place, he went stealing along the passages
again towards the chapel, carrying a brown paper parcel, which he tried
to cover with his trencher, lest curious eyes might be about. His
friend Smart went stealing after him, and they turned off through a
door into an open quadrangle; on three sides of which ran a covered
gallery or passage, with a brick floor and Gothic pillars, called the
cloisters; on the fourth side were the great gates that formed the
scholars' entrance. A truck of luggage was coming in from the railway
station; Dick and the other slipped past it.
Now what had these two got in that parcel, guarded with so much care?
Mischief, you may be sure. It was the parcel that Loftus major had
picked up on his arrival, and taken off to his room; and it contained
nothing less than a pair of pistols. Mr. Loftus had recently purchased
these pistols; he thought their acquisition one of the greatest
feathers his cap could display, and he had not resisted the temptation
to take them with him to show his compeers. Of course some secrecy had
to be observed, for Dr. Brabazon would as soon have allowed him to
bring a live bear into the college, and the case they lay in had been
well wrapped in wadding, and otherwise disguised. Loftus minor, Mr.
Dick, who was burning to finger these pistols, and had not yet obtained
the ghost of a chance to do it, thought he saw it on this evening. He
found out where his brother had placed them, brought them down, hid
them while he went into chapel, made a confidant of Smart, and the two
stole out with them. They had no particular motive in taking the
pistols abroad, except that there was little opportunity for a private
leisurely view indoors.
Crossing the wide road, they plunged into what was called the
plantation: a large plot of ground intersected with young trees; or,
rather, trees that had been young, for they were getting of a
sheltering size now. A cricket-field lay to the left, beyond the chapel
end-window; the station was in the distance; houses were dotted about;
none, however, in the immediate vicinity. It was a beautiful moonlight
night; and the boys chose an open place amid the trees, where there was
a bench, and the beams were bright. There they undid the parcel, and
touched the spring of the box.
Bright beams beyond doubt; but not so bright to the four admiring eyes
as the pistol barrels. Never had such pistols been seen, although
Loftus major—as Mr. Dick communicated in open-hearted confidence—had
only given an old song for them at some pawnbroker's. They lifted, they
touched, they stroked, they cocked, they took aim. The caps were on;
and it was only by an amount of incomprehensible self-denial, that they
did not fire. But that might have betrayed all; and Dick Loftus, though
daring a great deal in a harmless sort of way, did not dare that. Dick
fenced with the one, Smart with the other; they were like a couple of
little children, playing with make-believe swords.
All in a moment, Dick caught sight of a trencher, poking itself
gingerly through the trees, and regarding them. A master's trencher,
too, for the two tassels, one over the other, were distinctly visible.
With a smothered cry of warning to his companion, Dick vanished,
carrying his pistol with him. Smart, nearly beside himself with terror
when he comprehended the situation, vanished in Dick's wake; but in his
confusion he dropped his pistol into the sheet of wadding on the bench.
The coast clear, the spy (an unintentional spy, it must be confessed)
came forward. It was not a master; it was one of the boys, who, in
coming out, had unwittingly caught up a master's trencher in mistake
for his own. He took up the pistol and examined it—he turned over the
wadding on which it lay, and the brown paper, and the case;
scrutinizing all carefully in the moonlight, and coming on a written
direction at last.
"Oh, indeed! 'Albert Loftus, Esquire'! What does he want with pistols?
Is he thinking to shoot any one of the fellows? And Mr. Dick has stolen
a march on him, and brought them out, has he?"
He took up the pistol, looked at it again, critically held it for a
minute before him; then took aim, and fired it off. The answer to this
was a human cry and a fall; the charge—shot or bullet, which ever it
might be—had taken effect on some one but a few paces off. The culprit
remained perfectly still for one minute, possibly scared at what he had
done; he then quietly put the pistol on the case, crept off on tiptoe
amidst the trees, and—came face to face with the new master, Mr. Henry.
Mr. Henry was on his road to the station to order his luggage to the
college. He had left it on his arrival, not knowing where he was to
lodge. Dr. Brabazon had offered to send a servant, but Mr. Henry
coveted the walk in the cool, lovely night; he and his head were alike
feverish from the effects of the sea voyage; so they directed him
through the plantation, as being the nearest way.
Face to face. But only one glimpse did Mr. Henry catch of the meeting
face, for the boy's hand was suddenly raised to cover it, even while he
took flight. A moan or two, and then a loud shout for assistance—as if
the sufferer, on second thoughts, deemed it would be better to shout
than to groan—guided Mr. Henry to the spot. He was lying close by, in
an intersecting path of the plantation, a boy of some sixteen years,
whose trencher showed he belonged to Orville College.
"Who is it?" asked Mr. Henry.
"Talbot," shortly answered the boy. "I say, though, who are you? How
came you to shoot me?"
"It was not I who did it. I heard the shot as I came up. Where are you
hurt?"
"In my leg, I think. I can't move it. I only got in by this train, for
I missed the one in the afternoon, and was running through here, full
pelt, when somebody takes a shot at me! Cool, I must say!"
The master raised him, but the right leg seemed nearly helpless, so he
laid him down again, and ran to the college for assistance. But as Mr.
Henry was turning away, the white wadding on the bench caught his eye,
and he found the pistol and its accessories. These he carried with him.
Dick Loftus, hiding in the distant trees, could bear the suspense no
longer. Something was wrong; some untoward event had occurred; and he
came forward in disregard of Smart's prayers and entreaties. Dick was
of an open honourable nature, in spite of his pursuit of mischief and
his impulsive thoughtlessness: he never hesitated to take his escapades
on himself, when real necessity arose.
"I'm blest! Why, it's the earl!" he shouted out. "Smart! Smart! come
here. It's the Earl of Shrewsbury!"
"Is that you, Dick?" exclaimed the wounded boy, looking up as Dick bent
over him in the moonlight. "Did you do it?"
"No, I didn't," said Dick. "I say, old fellow, is it much! I wish his
pistols had been buried before I'd brought 'em out!"
"How was it all? Whose are the pistols?" questioned Talbot. And Mr.
Dick, in an ecstasy of contrition, but vowing vengeance against the
shooter, whoever it might be, entered on his explanation. To do him
justice, he gave it without the least reserve. And Tom Smart, shivering
amid the thickest trees, at a safe distance, daring to stir neither one
way nor the other, lest he should be seen, and who had not heard the
salutation, wondered whether Dick would keep his word, and not mention
his name in connection with the calamity.
A fine commotion arose in the college when Mr. Henry got back with the
news. One of the gentlemen had been shot in the plantation!—shot by a
fellow student! It was incredible. Mr. Henry, breaking away from the
throng, quietly gave Dr. Brabazon an account of the whole, as far as he
was cognizant of it: how that he had heard a shot quite close to him,
followed by a cry, and had caught a glimpse of a youth stealing away.
He gave no clue as to who the youth was; apparently did not know; and
of course could not know positively that it was he who had fired; he
recognized him as belonging to Orville College by the cap. It was but a
hurried explanation; there was no time to waste in question and answer;
Talbot must be seen to.
He was brought in on a hurdle, and a surgeon summoned. On the first day
of this boy's entrance at the college, when Dr. Brabazon, the roll
before him, asked his name, the answer was, "James Talbot." "James
Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury?" jokingly responded the doctor, in allusion
to one noted in English history; and from that hour Talbot had gone by
no other name in the school. Of a good-natured, generous disposition,
he was ever ready to do a kind action, and was liked immensely. Not
that he had much to be generous with in one sense: his father was a
banker's clerk; very poor; struggling with life; and pinching himself
in all ways to keep his son at Orville.
Not during the first confusion did a suspicion, that the offending
pistol could have any connection with a certain brown paper
treasure-parcel upstairs, penetrate to the brain of Loftus major: not
until Dick's name arose into prominence. Up to his room stepped Mr.
Loftus, six stairs at a stride, pulled open a drawer, essayed to lay
his hands upon the parcel, and—found it was not there. He could not
believe his own eyes; he stared, he felt, he stood in a mazed sort of
bewilderment. Meddle with _his_ things! that wretched Dick, who was
nearly three years his junior, and held at arm's-length
accordingly!—with his new pistols, that were only brought en cachette!
When Loftus major recovered his equanimity sufficiently to think, he
came to the conclusion that hanging would be too good for Dick.